
QassJ. 
Book_ 



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POEMS 



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NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. 



POEMS 



NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL, 



B Y 



WILLIAM MOTHERWELL 



THIRD EDITION, 



BOSTON: 

WILLIAM D. TICKNOR & COMPANY, 

MDCCCXLIV. 






PRINTED BY GEORGE COOI.IDGE, 

57 AYashingtoii Street. 



PREFACE 



TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. 



How such a genuine literary treasure as Motherwell's Poems 
should have so long escaped the notice of publishers, ever on the 
lookout for what they may appropriate and again lucratively 
disperse, — how so rare an exotic should have been until now 
neglected in the daily indiscriminate transplantation of so many 
fruit-bearing and barren trees, — of choice flowers and unsightly 
weeds, is difficult to explain; but so it has been. From this 
circumstance, and the scarcity of the only edition ever published, 
these poems are known to but few, or if to many, only to a 
partial extent, from occasional reprints in newspapers of the 
day; and of their great merit, — a merit sufficient to place them 
among the choicest productions of their class, — the literary 
public are mostly ignorant. Varied in style and subject, the 
author seems always at home and at ease ; whether he sings of 
love or battle, he is equally in spirit ; his poetry is the same full 
stream, whether it flow quietly amid myrtle groves or foam 
along a battle-field, bearing upon its bosom a Norseman's fleet. 
In his Scandinavian poetry the spirit of an ancient Scald seems 
in truth to peal forth. The notes are not those of a soft lute 
from silken string or silver wire, but are tones wrung from one 
of their own rude harps, sinew-strung, whose measures are 
marked by the sword-struck shield, and whose pauses are filled 



11 r R E F A C E . 

by the shout of the warriors or the roar of the keel-cleft wave. 
The selection of the pure Saxon, and the perfect adaptation of 
its rich, full accents to the sense in ' The Battle-Flag of Sigurd,' 
and ' The Sword Chant of Thorstein Raudi,' is particularly- 
admirable, and the thorough manner in which the author enters 
into the untutored spirit of the Norse Warrior in ' The Wooing 
Song of Jarl Egill Skallagrim,' is equally worthy of note. The 
Scandinavian Sea- King does not come like a modern lover, filled 
Muth protestations of his own unworthiness. Hear his manly 
confidence ; 

' Ay, Daughter of Einar, 
Right tall may St thou stand, 
It is a Vikingir 
Who Idsses thy hand.' 

He offers no flowers, he promises no rich jewels; — 

' Gifts yet more princely 

Jarl Egill bestows. 

For girdle his great arm 

Around thee he throws ; 

The bark of a sea-king 

For palace, gives he, 

While mad waves and winds shall 

Thy true subjects be.' 

To the last, no puling sentiment, — no unmanly flattery escapes 
his lips. He neither compares her to a gem or a flower, nor 
exalts her to an angel or divinity ; but tells her 

' Fair Daughter of Einar 
Deem high of the fate 
That makes thee, like this blade, 
Proud Egill's loved mate.' 



PREFACE. Ill 

The remarks of the author in the dedication, concerning the 
knowledge of Norse poetry, do not justly apply in this country, 
as it is but lately that our attention has been turned to it, princi- 
pally through productions and translations of professor Long- 
fellow. It was therefore at first contemplated adding a glossary 
to this edition ; but it was found, that to the imitation of the old 
Scottish ballad, almost a verbatim translation would have to be 
given, increasing the size of the book unduly. Besides this, 
much danger would be incurred of insulting many readers by 
explanations of words, which, although seldom met with in gen- 
eral use, might, from their particular course of reading, be quite 
familiar; so that the same conclusion was arrived at to which the 
author himself had previously come, — to leave it as it is, and 
trust that the interest which the reader will take in what he 
does understand, will induce him to seek for the easily attained 
explanation of what he may not. 

* ' Of ' Jeanie Morrison,' ' Wearie's Well,' and ' My Heid is like 
to rend, Willie,' it were idle now to speak-, they are amongst the 
most pathetic effusions of the Scottish muse — full of a soft volup- 
tuous tenderness of feeling, and steeped in a rich tissue of warm 
poetical coloring, like a transparent veil over a weeping beauty. 
In another style of poetical composition, Motherwell has rarely 
been excelled — the sentimental and grdLcefnlvers de soriet6. Of 
such are ' Love's Diet,' ' Could love impart,' &c. In a light air- 
iness, and graceful flexibility of language, and in a pointed but 
not harsh brevity of diction, in unison with a certain gaiety and 
feminine elegance of thought, they appear to us to be perfect of 
their kind. 

' The events in the life and fortunes of a man of letters, are 
seldom of so salient a character, or of such a stimulating variety, 

* The following paragraphs are from ' The Laird of Logan, or Anecdotes 
and Tales illustrative of the Wit and Humor of Scotland,' to which Mother- 
well contributed. 



IV PREFACE. 

as to form the basis of a narrative, the interest of which will 
extend beyond the circle of his more intimate friends and asso- 
ciates. 

'Mr. Motherwell was born in the city of Glasgow, on the 13th 
of October, 1797. His family came from Stirlingshire, where 
they resided for several generations, on a small property belong- 
ing to them, called Muirmill. Early in life he was transferred to 
the care of an uncle in Paisley. There he received the principal 
part of a rather liberal education, and there he began the career 
of a citizen of the world, as an apprentice to the profession of 
law. So great was the confidence reposed in him, that at the 
early age of twenty-one he was appointed Sheriff- Clerk-Depute 
at Paisley — a situation very respectable, and of considerable 
responsibility, though by no means lucrative. In 1828, he became 
editor of the Paisley Advertiser, a journal wherein he zealously 
advocated Tory politics, to which he had long previously shown 
his attachment. During the same year, he conducted the Pais- 
ley Magazine — a periodical of local as well as general interest, 
and which contained many papers of a rare and curious charac- 
ter. In 1829, he resigned the office of Sheriff- Clerk-Depute, and 
applied himself exclusively to the management of the newspaper, 
and to literary pursuits. 

* In the beginning of 1830, he appeared on a more important 
theatre, and in a more conspicuous character. He was engaged 
as editor of the Glasgow Courier — a journal of long standing, 
of respectable circulation, and of the Ultra-Tory school of poli- 
tics. Mr. Motherwell conducted this newspaper with great abil- 
ity, and fully sustained, if he did not at times outgo, its extreme 
opinions. From the time of his accepting this very responsible 
situation, to the day of his death — a period of five eventful and 
troubled years — during which the fever of party politics raged 
with peculiar virulence in the veins of society, it is universally 
conceded, by those who were opposed to his political opinions, 
as well as by the members of his own party, that he sustained 



PREFACE. V 

his views with singular ability and indomitable firmness ; and 
if, at times, with a boldness and rough energy, both rash and 
unwise, the obvious sincerity and personal feeling of the writer 
elevated him far above the suspicion of being actuated by vulgar 
or mercenary motives. Motherwell was of small stature, but 
very stout and muscular in body — accompanied, however, with 
a large head, and a short thick neck and throat — the precise 
character of physical structure the most liable to the fatal access 
of the apoplectic stroke. Accompanied by a literary friend, on 
the first of November, 1835, he had been dining in the country, 
about a couple of miles from Glasgow, and, on his return home, 
feeling indisposed, he went to bed. In a few hours thereafter be 
awakened, and complained of pain in the head, which increased 
so much as to render him speechless. Medical assitance was 
speedily obtained; but, alas! it was of no avail — the blow was 
struck, and the curtain had finally fallen over the life and for- 
tunes of William Motherwell. — One universal feeling of regret 
and sympathy seemed to extend over society, when the sudden 
and premature decease of this accomplished poet, and ele- 
gant WTiter, became known. His funeral was attended by a 
large body of the citizens, by the most eminent of the learned 
and literary professions, and by persons of all shades of political 
opinion. He was interred in the Necropolis of Glasgow, not far 
from the resting-place of his fast friend, Mr. Andrew Henderson ; 
and the writer of this brief memoir will long remember the feel- 
ings of deep regret with which he beheld the long procession of 
mourners winding its way up the steep ascents of that romantic 
place of graves, with the mortal remains of his private and liter- 
ary friend, although firm political opponent. 

' For the information of such of our readers as are not ac- 
quainted with the locality, we may mention, that the place of 
his sepulture is well fitted for the grave of a poet. It is a small 
piece of level ground, above which bold masses of rock, crowned 
with trees and shrubs of various kinds, ascend to a considerable 



VI r R E F A C E . 

height ; and below, the broken ground, richly wooded, and brist- 
ling with monumental columns and other erections, slopes beau- 
tifully down to the banks of a small lake or dam, terminated by a 
weir, over which its waters foam and fret at all seasons of the year. 

' We hope, ere long, that some memorial of our gifted friend will 
rise amid these congenial shades (where some of the best dust 
in Glasgow now reposes,) to refresh the eye of friendship, and tell 
the wandering stranger of ' the inhabitant who sleeps below.' 

'In the year 1827, whilst at Paisley, he published his 'Min- 
strelsy, Ancient and Modern' — a work which raised him at 
once to a high rank as a literary antiquarian. The introduction, 
a long and singularly interesting document, exhibits the writer's 
extensive acquaintance with the history of the ballad and roman- 
tic literature of Scotland — and independent of its merits as a 
historical and critical disquisition, is in itself a piece of chaste 
and elegant composition, and vigorous writing. Soon after that 
he became editor of the Paisley Magazine, and contributed 
some of the sweetest effusions of his muse to enrich its pages — 
effusions which now began to interest and concentrate the public 
attention, until, in 1S32, a volume of his poems was published 
by Mr. David Robertson, Glasgow, which fully established his 
reputation as one of the sweet singers of his native land. A few 
months previous to the publication of his poems, another proof 
of the fertile versatility of his genius was afforded in an elaborate 
and able preface, which he contributed, to enrich a collection of 
Scottish Proverbs by his friend Mr. Andrew Henderson. In this 
essay, Motherwell exhibited a profound acquaintance with the 
proverbial antiquities of Scotland, and a fine and delicate tact in 
the management of a somewhat difficult subject. The style is 
equally elegant and vigorous, and shows him a master of prose, 
as of poetic composition. In 1836, an edition of the works of 
Robert Burns, in five volumes, was published, edited by him, in 
conjunction with the Ettrick Shepherd. A considerable part of 
the life, with a large amount of notes, critical and illustrative, 



P Tc E F A C E . VU 

were supplied by Motherw^ell, with his usual ability and copious 
knowledge of his subject: but literary partnerships are seldom 
very fortunate in their consequences, and this was not fated to 
be an especial example of a contrary result, 

' Mr. Motherwell was also a considerable contributor to the 
literary periodical — 'The Day' — of which due mention has 
already been made, and which, for some time, commanded a 
brilliant range of western talent. His memoirs of Bailie Pirnie 
formed one of the most amusing and masterly papers in that 
journal. It is understood he left behind a considerable amount 
of manuscript ; and, amongst other matter, a work embodying 
the wild legends of the ancient northern nations — a department 
of antiquarian research to which he was much devoted.* It is 
to be hoped, that a selection at least from these manuscripts will 
be laid before the public, as an act of justice to liis memory. 

' In mixed society, Motherwell was rather reserved, but ap- 
peared to enjoy internally ' the feast of reason and the flow of 
soul,' amongst his intimate friends and associates, who were but 
few in number. Amongst these, the principal were David Carrick 
and Andrew Henderson. Opposite as in most respects were the 
characters and pursuits of these three individuals, a certain com- 
munit}^ of taste and feeling formed a bond of union amongst them : 
and it was rather amusing to observe, how their comparatively neu- 
tralizing qualities dovetailed so naturally and finely into each oth- 
er, as to form a harmonious concord. The constitutional reserve 
and silent habits of Motherw^ell — the quiet drollery and sly hu- 
mour of Carrick — with the irritable and somewhat explosive ab- 
ruptness of Henderson, formed a melange, so happily constituted, 
and so bizarre frequently in its results, that those who had access 
to their frequent symposia, will long remember the richness of 
the cordial and original compound. There was a depth of charac- 

' * A portion of this, under the title of ' The Doomed Nine, or the Langbein 
Riters,' appeared in the Paisley Magazine, pp. GO and 34G.' 



Vlll r R E F A C E . 

ter, however, in Motherwell, which placed him naturally at the 
head of this firm fellowship ; and though apparently the least mo- 
live of the party, his opinions on most points, with his tastes and 
wishes, were generally a law to the others.' 

Even with this limited knowledge, a reader of these poems 
cannot help acquiring an unusual interest in the author; and 
he irresistibly feels that it is no feigned cry, but the genuine 
groans of a deeply wounded spirit, that he hears in ' O Agony ! 
keen Agony!' — that it is the true sentiment that sighs forth 
in 'Mournfully! O Mournfully,' — that it is the waywardness 
of the writer himself that exclaims, ' Sing high, sing low, thou 
moody wind,' — and his own disappointed hopes that try to 
buoy themselves up by asking 'What is Glory? What is 
Fame?' — or talking so resignedly of 'The darkness of a 
nameless tomb ; ' and this feeling is still increased by the pe- 
rusal of the poem which concludes this volume, and which is 
now for the first time published in this form, — a poem touching 
in itself, but rendered still more so when knoM^n to have been 
found upon his desk just after his death. 



WILLIAM KENNEDY, ESQ, 



My dear Kennedy, 

At the suggestion of some mutual friends, I have been 
induced to collect these stray verses of mine into a volume, 
which I have now the pleasure of dedicating to you, as a memo- 
rial of earlier days, and of my unaltered feelings of friendship and 
esteem for you. 

I have been told that several of the pieces, in order to be intel- 
ligible to the general reader, required the aid of notes. To the 
critical opinion of others, I am always inclined to defer: but to 
have loaded a volume of such slender dimensions as the present, 
with historical annotation, would, I tliink, have gone far to mar 
its appearance as a book, as well as to have given it an air of 
pedantry, which I dislike. 

In this I may be wrong; but according to my apprehension, the 
only pieces in the volume which need the desiderated illustration, 
are the first three. These, I may mention, are intended to be a 
faint shadowing forth of something like the form and spirit of 
Norse poetiy;but all that is historical about them is contained 
in the proper names. The first, ' Sigurd's Battle-Flag,' does not, 
follow the story as given in the Nothern Sagas, but only adopts 
the incident of the Magic Standard, which carries victory to the 
party by whom it is displayed, but certain death to its bearer. 

' Jarl Egill Skallagrim's Wooing Song ' is entirely a creation, 
and nothing of it is purely historical, save the preserving of the 
name of that warrior and Skald. From the memorials, however, 



X , DEDICATION. 

he has left us of himself, I think he could not well have wooed 
in a different fashion from that which I have chosen to describe. 
As for ' Thorstein Raudi,' or the red, that is a name which occurs 
in Nothern history ; but, as may well be supposed, he never said 
so much in all his life about his sword or himself, as I have taken 
the fancy of putting into his mouth. The allusions made to 
Northern mythology, are or should be, familiar to almost every one. 

The Scottish words and Scottish mode of orthography, adopt- 
ed in a few other little pieces,will, I dare say, be quite intelligi- 
ble even to English readers. They have been long familiar- 
ized with our vernacular dialect, through the writings of Burns 
and Scott ; and if they cannot yet master its difficulties, all that 
can reasonably be said of them is, that they are very unapt 
scholars. 

And now, my dear Kennedy, having made these explanations for 
the satisfaction of the courteous and gentle reader, I, in the fulness 
of a friendly heart, inscribe this volume to you, as an earnest of 
the admiration I entertain for your genius, and as a tribute of my 
unabated affection and friendship towards you, amidst all the 
vicissitudes and turmoil of this weary life. I wish I could with 
any degree of modesty, apply to it the title of an old poetical mis- 
cellany, and characterize it as ' A posie of gelly flowers, eche dif- 
fering from other in color and odor yet all swete.' This may not 
be. As it is, however, you have it; and with it, the sincere 
regard of 

Your old and affectionate friend, 

W. Motherwell. 
Glasgom^, Oct. 13, 1832. 



CONTENTS, 



rj.j3. 

The Battle Flag of Sigurd, lo 

The Wooing Song of Jarl Egill Skallagrim, . . . 26 

The Sword Chant of Thorstein Raudi, .... 31 

Jeanie Morrison, 39 

My Heid is like to rend, Willie, 41 

The Madman's Love, 48 

Halbertthe Grim, 06 

True Love's Dirge, 71 

The Demon Lady, 7t) 

Zara, SO 

Ouglou's Onslaught, S3 

Elfinland Wud, S8 

Midnight and Moonshine, 94 

The Water ! the Water ! 100 

Three Fanciful Supposes, 104 

Caveat to the Wind, 106 

What is Glory? What is Fame? 109 

The Solemn Song of a Righteous Hearte, . . . .111 

Melancholye, 11-3 

I am not sad, 119 

The Joys of the Wilderness, 123 

A Solemn Conceit, 125 

The Expatriated, 128 

Facts from Fairyland, 131 



Xll CONTENTS. 

PAOS. 

Certain Pleasant Verses, 134 

Beneath a Placid Brow, 137 

The Covenanters' Battle Chant, 139 

Tim the Tacket, 142 

The Witches' Joys, 147 

A Sabbath Summer Noon, 152 

A Monody, 158 

They Come ! the Merry Summer Months, . . . .163 

Change sweepeth over all, 166 



SONGS. 

0, Wae be to the Orders, 171 

Wearie's Well, 173 

Song of the Danish Sea-king, 176 

The Cavalier's Song, 179 

The Merry Gallant, 181 

The Knight's Song, 183 

The Trooper's Ditty, 185 

He is gone ! He is gone ! 188 

The Forester's Carol, 190 

May-Morn Song, 192 

The Bloom hath fled.thy cheek, Mary, .... 194 

In the quiet and solemn Night, 197 

The Voice of Love, 199 

Away ! away ! 0, do not say, 201 

O, Agony ! keen Agony ! 203 

The Serenade, 204 

Could Love impart, 207 

The Parting, 209 

Love's Diet, 211 

The Midnight Wind, 213 

Lines to a Friend, 215 



POEMS 



POEMS. 



THE BATTLE-FLAG OF SIGURD. 



I. 
The eagle hearts of all the North 
Have left theh stormy strand ; 
The warriors of the world are forth 
To choose another land I 
Again, their long keels sheer the wave, 
Their broad sheets court the breeze ; 
Again, the reckless and the brave, 
Ptide lords of weltering seas. 
Nor swifter from the well-bent l)ow 
Can feathered shaft be sped, 
Than o'er the ocean's flood of snow 
Their snorting galleys tread. 
Then lift the can to bearded lip, 
And smite each sounding shield. 



15 THE BATTLE -FLAG 

Wassaile I to every dark -ribbed sliip, 

To every battle-field I 
So proudly the Skalds raise their voices of triumpli, 
As the Northmen ride over the broad-bosom'd billow, 

II. 

Aloft, Sigurdir's battle -flag 

Streams onward to the land, 

Well may the taint of slaughter lag 

On yonder glorious strand. 

The waters of the mighty deep. 

The wild birds of the sky. 

Hear it like vengeance shoreward sweep, 

Where moody men must die. 

The waves v/ax wi-otli beneath our keel, — 

The clouds above us lower. 

They know the battle-sign, and feel 

All its resistless power ! 

Who now uproars Sigurdh-'s flag, 

Nor shuns an early tomb ? 

Who shoreward tlnough the swelling surge, 

Shall bear the scroll of doom ? 
So shout the Skalds, as the long ships are nearing 
The low-lying shores of a beautiful land. 



OF SIGURD. 17 

III. 

Silent the Self-devoted stood 

Beside the massive tree ; 

His image muTor'd in the flood 

Was tenible to see I 

As leaiiuig on liis gleaming axe, 

And gazing on the wave, 

His fearless soul was chuniing up 

The death-nme of the brave. 

Upheaving then liis giant form 

Upon the brown bark's prow, 

And tossing back the yellow storm 

Of hair from his broad brow ; 

The hps of song burst open, and 

The words of fire rushed out, 

And thundering through that martial crew 

Pealed Haraid's battle shout; — 
It is Harald the Dauntless that lifteth liis great voice, 
As the Northmen roll on with the doom-wiitten bamier. 

IV. 

• I bear Sigurdh's battle -flag 
Through sunshine, or tlnough gloom ; 
Tluough swelling surge on bloody sti'and 
I plant the scroll of doom I 



18 THE BATTLE-FLAG 

On Scandia's lonest, bleakest waste, 

Beneath a starless sky, 

The Shadowy Three hke meteors passed, 

And bade young Harald die ; — 

They sang the war-deeds of his sires, 

And pointed to their tomb ; 

They told him that this glory-flag 

Was his by right of doom. 

Since then, where hath young Harald been, 

But where Jarl's son should be ? 

'iSlid war and waves, — the combat keen 

That raged on land or sea I ' 
So sings the fierce Harald, the thirster for glory, 
As his hand bears aloft the dark death-laden banner. 

V. 

* Mine own death's in this clenched hand ; 
I knoAV the noble trust ; 
These limbs must rot on yonder strand, — 
These lips must lick its dust. 
But shall tliis dusky standard quail 
In the red slaughter-day ; 
Or shall this heart its purpose fail, — 
Tliis arm forget to slay ? 



F S I G U R D . 19. 

I trample doAvn such idle doubt 

Harald's high blood hath sprung 

From sires whose hands m martial bout 

Have ne'er behed their tongue ; 

Nor keener from then* castled rock 

Pvush eagles on their prey, 

Than, panting for the battle-shock. 

Young Harald leads the way.' 
It is thus that tall Harald, in terrible beauty, 
Pours forth liis big soul to the joyaunce of heroes. 

VI. 

* The ship-borne warriors of the North, 
The sons of Woden's race. 
To battle as to feast go forth, 
With stern, and changeless face ; 
And I the last of a great hue, — 
The Self-devoted, long 
To hft on liigh the E-unic sign 
Which gives my name to song. 
In battle-field young Harald falls 
Amid a slaughtered foe, 
But backward never bears tliis flag. 
While streams to ocean flow ; — 



20 THE BATTLE-FLAG 

On, on above the crowded dead 

This Runic scroll shall flare, 

And round it shall the lightnings spread, 

From swords that never spare.' 
So rush the hero-words from the Death-doomed one, 
While Skalds harp aloud the renown of liis fathers. 

VIL 

' Flag ! from your folds, and fiercely wake 
War-music on the wind, 
Lest tenderest thoughts should rise to shake 
Tlie sternness of my mind ; 
Brynhilda, maiden meek and fair, 
Pale watcher by the sea, 
I hear thy wailings on the air, 
Thy heart's dirge sung for me : — 
In vain thy milk-white hands are wrung 
Above the salt sea foam ; 
The wave that bears me from thy bower, 
Shall never bear me home ; 
Brynliilda ! seek another love, 
But ne'er wed one like me, 
Wlio death foredoomed from above 
Joys in his destiny.' 



OF SI GURD. 21 

Thus mourned young Harald as he thought on 

Brynliilda, 
While his eyes filled \vith tears Avliich glittered, 

but fell not. 

VIII. 

' On sweeps Sigurdir's battle -flag, 
The scourge of far from shore ; 
It dashes tln-ough the seethmg foam, 
But I return no more I 
Wedded unto a fatal bride, — 
Boune for a bloody bed, — 
And battling for her, side by side. 
Young HarakVs doom is sped I 
In starkest fight, where kemp on kcmp 
Heel headlong to the gi*ave. 
There Harald' s axe shall ponderous ring, 
There Sigmxl's flag shall wave ; — 
Yes, underneath tliis standard tall. 
Beside tliis fateful scroll, 
Down shall the tower-hke prison fall 
Of Harald's haughty soul.' 
So sings the Death seeker, while nearer and nearer 
The fleet of the Nortlunen bears doAvn to the shore. 



22 THE BATTLE-PLAG 

IX. 

* Green lie those thicldy timbered shores 
Fair sloping to the sea ; 
Tliey 're cumbered with the harvest stores 
That wave but for the free : 
Our sickle is the gleaming sword, 
Our gamer the broad shield, — 
Let peasants sow, but still he 's lord 
Who 's master of the field 
Let them come on, the bastard-bom, 
Each soil-stain'd chmie I — alack I 
What gain they but a splitten skull, 
A sod for their base back ? 
They sow for us these goodly lands, 
We reap them in our might, 
Scorning all title but the brands 
That triumph in the fight I ' 
It was thus the land- winners of old gained their gloiy, 
And gray stones voiced their praise in the bays of far 
isles. 

X. 

' The rivers of yon island low, 
Glance redly in the sun, 



O P S I G U R D . 23 

But ruddier still they 're doomed to glow, 

Aiid deeper shall they run ; 

The torrent of proud life shall swell 

Each river to the brim, 

And in that spate of blood, how well 

The headless corpse will swim ! 

The smoke of many a shepherd's cot 

Curls from each peopled glen : 

And, hark ! the song of maidens mild 

The shout of joyous men I 

But one may hew the oaken tree, 

The other shape the shroud ; 

As the Landeyda o'er the sea 

Sweeps like a tempest cloud :' — 
So shouteth fierce Harald, — so echo the Northmen, 
As shoreward their ships like mad steeds are careering. 

XI. 

* Sigiu'dir's battle-flag is spread 
Abroad to the blue sky. 
And spectral visions of the dead. 
Are trooping giimly by ; 
The spirit heralds rush before 
Harald' s destro^'ing brand. 



24 THE BATTLE-FLAG 

They hover o'er yon fated shore 

And death- devoted band. 

Marshal stout Jarls your battle fast ! 

And fire each beacon height, 

Our galleys anchor in the sound, 

Our banners heave in sight ! 

And through the surge and arrowy shower 

That rains on this broad shield, 

Harald uplifts the sign of power 

Which rules the battle-field I ' 
So cries the Death-doomed on the red strand of 

slaughter, 
Wliile the hehnets of heroes Hke anvils are rmging. 

xn. 
On rolled the Northmen's war, above 
The Kaven Standard fiew. 
Nor tide nor tempest ever strove 
With vengeance half so true, 
'T is Harald, — 't is the Sire bereaved, — 
Who goads the dread career. 
And high amid the flashing storm 
Tlie flag of Doom doth rear. 
' On, on,' the tall Death-seeker cries. 



OF SIGURD. 25 

• These earth worms soil our heel, 
Then* spear-poiiits crash like crisping ice 
On ribs of stubbom steel !' 
Hurra ! hurra ! their wliu-hvinds sweep, 
And Harald's fate is sped ; 
Bear on the flag — he goes to sleep 
With the life-scommg dead. 
Thus fell the young Harald, as of old fell liis shes, 
And the bright hall of heroes bade hail to liis spirit. 



THE WOOING SONG OF JARL EGILL 
SKALLAGRIM. 



Bright maiden of Orkney, 
Star of the blue sea ! 
I've swept o'er the waters 
To gaze upon thee ; 
I 've left spoil and slaughter, 
I 've left a far strand, 
To sing how I love thee, 
To kiss thy small hand ! 
Fair daughter of Einar, 
Golden-haired maid I 
The lord of yon broAvn bark, 
And lord of this blade ; 
The joy of the ocean, — 
Of warfare and Avind, 
Hath bonne him to woo thee, 
And thou must be kind. 
So stoutly Jarl Egill wooed Torf Einar's daughter. 



JARL EGILL SKALLAGRIM. 27 

In Jutland, — in Iceland, — 
On Nenstria's shore, 
Where'er the dark billow 
My gallant bark bore, 
Songs spoke of thy beauty, 
Harps sounded thy praise. 
And my heart loved thee long ere 
It thrilled in thy gaze : 
Ay, Daughter of Einar, 
Eight tall mayst thou stand, 
It is a Vikingir 
Who kisses thy hand : 
It is a Vilvingir 
That bends his proud knee, 
And swears by Great Freya, 
His bride thou must be ! 
So Jarl Egill swore when his great heart was fullest. 

Thy white arms are locked in 
Broad bracelets of gold ; 
Thy girdle-stead 's gleaming 
With treasures untold : 
The circlet that binds up 
Thy long yellow hair, 



28 THE WOOING SONG OF 

Is staiTed thick with jewels, 
That bright are and rare ; 
But gifts yet more princely 
Jarl Egill bestows, 
For girdle, liis great arm 
Around thee he throws ; 
The bark of a sea-king 
For palace, gives he, 
While mad waves and winds shall 
Thy true subjects be. 
So richly Jarl Egill endowed his bright bride. 

Nay, frown not, nor shrink thus, 
Nor toss so thy head, 
'T is a Vikingir asks thee, 
Land-maiden to wed ! 
He skills not to woo thee, 
In trembling and fear. 
Though lords of the land may 
Thus troop with the deer. 
The cradle he rock'd in 
So sound and so long, 
Hath framed liim a heart 
And a hand that are strong : 



JARL EGILL SKALLAGRIM. 29 

He comes then as Jarl should, 
Sword belted to side, 
To win thee and wear thee 
"With gloiy and pride. 
So sternly Jarl Egill wooed, and smote his long brand. 

Tliy father, thy bretln-en, 
Thy Ivin keep from me, 
The maiden I've sworn shall 
Be Queen of the sea I 
A truce with that folly — 
Yon sea-strand can show 
If tliis eye missed its aun, 
Or tliis arm failed its blow : 
I had not well taken 
Three stiides on this land, 
Ere a Jarl and his six sons 
In death bit the sand. 
Nay, weep not, pale maid, though 
In battle should fall 
The kemps who would keep thy 
Bridegi'oom from the hall. 
So carped Jail Egill, and kissed the bright weeper. 



30 THE WOOING SONG OF 

Tlu-ough shadows and horrors, 
In w^orlds underground, 
Through sounds that appall 
And through sights that confound, 
I sought the Wehd women 
Within their dark cell, 
And made them surrender 
Futurity's spell ; 
I made them rune over 
The dim scroll so free. 
And mutter how Fate sped 
With lovers like me ; 
Yes, maiden, I forced them 
To read forth my doom. 
To say how I should fare 
As jolly bridegroom. 
So Jarl Egill's love dared the world of grim shadows. 

They waxed and they waned, 
They passed to and fro, 
Wliile lurid fLres gleamed o'er 
Tlieir faces of snow ; 
Their stony eyes moveless, 
Did glare on me long, 



JAFwL EGILL SKALLAGr.IM. 31 

Then sullen they chanted : 
* The Sword and the Song 
Prevail with the gentle, 
Sore chasten the rude, 
And sway to their purpose 
Each evil-shaped mood I ' 
Fair Daughter of Einar, 
I 've sung the dark lay 
That the Weird sisters runed, and 
Which thou must obey. 
So fondly Jarl Egill loved Einar's proud daughter. 

The curl of that proud lip, 
The flash of that eye, 
The swell of that bosom. 
So full and so high, 
Like foam of sea-billow. 
Thy wliite bosom shows. 
Like flash of red levin 
Tliine eagle eye glows : 
Ha I finnly and boldly, 
So stately and free, 
Thy foot treads tliis chamber. 
As bark rides the sea : 



32 THE WOOING SONG OF 

This likes me — this hkes me, 
Stout maiden of moukl, 
Thou wooest to purpose ; 
Bold hearts love the bold. 
So shouted Jaii Egill, and clutched the proud maiden. 

Away and away then, 
I have thy small hand ; 
Joy with me, — our tall bark 
Now bears toward the strand ; 
I call it the Raven, 
The wing of black night. 
That shadows forth ruin 
O'er islands of light : 
Once more on its long deck, 
Beliind us the gale. 
Thou shalt see how before it 
Great kingdoms do quail : 
Thou shalt see then how truly, 
My noble-souled maid. 
The ransom of kings can 
Be won by this blade. 
So bravely Jarl Egill did soothe the pale trembler. 



JARL EG ILL S K A L L A G E, I M . 33 

Ay, gaze on its large hilt, 
One wedge of red gold ; 
But doat on its blade, gilt 
With blood of the bold. 
Tlie hilt is right seemly, 
But nobler the blade. 
That swart Velint's hammer 
With cunning spells made ; 
I call it the Adder, 
Death liurks in its bite, 
Through bone and proof-harness 
It scatters pale light. 
Fair Daughter of Einar, 
Deem high of the fate 
That makes thee, like this blade, 
Proud Egill's loved mate ! 
So Jarl Egill bore off Torf Einar's bright daughter. 



THE SWORD CHANT OF THORSTEIN RAUDI. 



'T IS not tlie gray hawk's flight 

O'er mountain and mere ; 
'T is not the fleet hound's course 

Tracking the deer ; 
'T is not the hght hoof print 

Of black steed or gray, 
Though sweUering it gallop 

A long summer's day ; 
Which mete forth the Lordships 

I challenge as mine ; 
Ha I ha ! 't is the good brand 
I clutch in my strong hand. 
That can their broad marches 

And numbers define. 
Land Giver! I kiss thee. 

Dull builders of houses, 
Base tillers of earth, 



OF THORSTEIN RAUDI. 

Gaping, ask me what lordships 

I owned at my birth ; 
But the pale fools wax mute 

When I point with my sword 
East, west, north, and south, 

Shoutmg, * There am I Lord I ' 
Wold and waste, town and tower, 

Hill, valley, and stream, 
Ti-embling, how to my sway 
In the fierce battle fray, 
Wlien the star that rules Fate, is 

Tliis falchion's red gleam. 
Might Giver I I kiss thee. 

I 've heard great harps sounding. 

In brave bower and hall, 
I 've drank the sweet music 

That bright lips let fall, 
I 've hunted in greenwood, 

And heard small buds sing; 
But away with tliis idle 

And cold jargoning ; 
The music I love, is 

The shout of the brave, 



36 THE SWORD CHANT 

The yell of the dying, 

The scream of the flying, 

Wlien this arm wields death's sickle, 

And gamers the grave. 
Joy Giver ! I kiss thee. 

Far isles of the ocean 

Thy lightning have known, 
And wide o'er the main land 

Thy horrors have shone. 
Great sword of my father, 

Stem joy of his hand. 
Thou hast carved his name deep on 

Tlie stranger's red strand, 
And w^on him the glory 

Of undying song. 
Keen cleaver of gay crests, 
Sharp piercer of broad breasts, 
Grim slayer of heroes, 

And scourge of the strong. 
Fame Giver ! I kiss thee. 

In a love more abiding 

Than that the heart knows, 



OF THORSTEIN HAUDI, 37 

For maiden more lovely 

Than summer's first rose, 
My heart's knit to thine. 

And lives but for thee ; 
In dreamings of gladness, 

Tliou 'rt dancing with me, 
Brave measures of madness 

Li some battle-field, 
Where armor is ringing, 
And noble blood springing, 
And cloven, yawn helmet. 

Stout hauberk and sliield. 
Death Givee, ! I kiss thee. 

The smile of a maiden's eye 

Soon may depart ; 
And Hght is the faith of 

Fair woman's heart; 
Changeful as light clouds. 

And wayward as wind. 
Be the passions that govern 

Weak woman's mind. 
But thy metal 's as true 

As its polish is bright; 



38 THE SWORD CHANT. 

When ills wax in number, 
Thy love will not slumber, 
But, starlike, burns fiercer, 

The darker the night. 
Heart Gladener I I kiss thee. 

My kindred have perished 

By war or by wave, — 
Now, childless and sireless, 

I long for the grave. 
When the path of our glory 

Is shadowed in death, 
With me thou wilt slumber 

Below the brown heath ; 
Thou wilt rest on my bosom, 

And with it decay, — 
While harps shall be ringing, 
And Scalds shall be singing 
The deeds we have done in 

Our old fearless day. 
Song Giver I I kiss thee. 



JEANIE MORRISON. 



I 'vE wandered east, I 've wandered west, 

Through mony a weary way ; 
But never, never can forget 

The hive o' hfe's young day ! 
The fce that 's blawn on Behane e'en, 

May weel be black gm Yule ; 
But blacker fa' awaits the heart 

Where first fond luve grows cule. 

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, 

The thochts o' bygane years 
Still fling then* shadows ower my path, 

And blind my een, wi' tears : 
They bhnd my een wi' saut, saut tears, 

And sah and sick I pine, 
As memoiy idly summons up 

Tlie blitlie blinks o' langs^aie. 

'T was then we Imdt ilk ither weel, 
'T was then we twa did part ; 



40 JEANIE MORRISON. 

Sweet time — sad time ! twa bairns at sculc, 
Twa bairns, and but ae heart I 

'T was then we sat on ae laigh bink, 
To leir ilk ither lear ; 

And tones, and looks, and smiles were shed, 
Pvemembered evermair. 

I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet, 

When sitting on that bink, 
Cheek toucliin' cheek, loof locked in loof, 

What our wee heads could think. 
When baith bent doun ower ae braid page, 

Wi' ae bulk on our knee, 
Thy lips were on thy lesson, but 

My lesson was in thee. 

O, mind ye how we hung our heads, 

How cheeks brent red wi' shame, 
Whene'er the scule -weans laughin' said, 

We cleek'd thegither hame ? 
And mind ye o' the Saturdays, 

(The scule then skail't at noon,) 
When we ran alT to speel the braes — 

The broomy braes o' June ? 



JEAN IE MORRISON. 41 

My head riiis round and round about, 

My heart flows Hke a sea, 
As ane by ane the thochts rush back 

O' scule-tune and o' thee. 
O, momin' hfe ! O, momin' kive ! 

O hchtsome days and lang, 
When liinnied hopes around our hearts 

Like simmer blossoms sprang ! 

O, mind ye, hive, how aft we left 

The deavin' dinsome toun, 
To wander by the green bumside, 

And hear its waters croon ? 
The suTmier leaves hung ower om* heads, 

The flowers burst round om* feet, 
And in the gloamin o' the wood, 

Tlie tln'ossil whusslit sweet ; 

The tlnossil whusslit in the wood, 

The bum sang to the trees, 
And we with Nature's heart m tune, 

Concerted harmonies ; 
And on the knowe abuiie the burn, 

For hom-s thcgither sat 



42 J E A N I E MORRISON. 

In the silentness o' joy, till baith 
Wi' very gladness grat. 

Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison, 

Tears trinkled doun your cheek. 
Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane 

Had ony power to speak ! 
That was a time, a blessed time, 

Wlien hearts were fresh and young. 
When freely gushed all feelings forth, 

Unsyllabled, — unsung ! 

I marvel Jeanie Morrison, 

Gin I hae been to thee 
As closely twined wi' earliest thochts, 

As ye hae been to me ? 
O ! tell me gin theh music fills 

Tliine ear as it does mine ; 

! say gin e'er your heart grows grit 
Wi' dreamings o' langsyne ? 

1 've wandered east, I 've wandered west, 

I 've borne a weaiy lot ; 
But in my wanderings, far or near, 
Ye never were forgot. 



JEANIE MORRISON. 43 

The fount that 'first biu'st frae tliis heart, 

Still travels on its way ; 
And channels deeper as it rins, 

The liive o' life's young day. 

dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, 
Since we were sindered young, 

1 've never seen yoiu* face, nor heard 

Tlie music o' your tongue ; 
But I could hug all wretchedness. 

And happy could I die, 
Did I but ken your heart still dreamed 

O' bygane days and me I 



MY IIEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILLIE. 



My held is like to rend, Willie, 

My heart is like to break, — 
I 'm wearin' aff my feet, Willie, 

I 'm dyin' for your sake I 
O lay your clieek to mine, Willie, 

Your hand on my briest-banc, - 
O say ye '11 think on me, Willie, 

Wlien I am deid and e:ane ! 



iz>^ 



It 's vain to comfort me, WiUie, 

Sair grief maun ha'e its will, - 
But let me rest upon your briest. 

To sab and greet my fill. 
Let me sit on your knee, Willie, 

Let me shed by your hair. 
And look into the face, Willie, 

I never sail see mair ! 

I'm sittin' on your knee, Willie, 
For the last time in my life, — 



TO REND, WILLIE. 45 

A puir heart-broken thing, WilHe, 

A mither, yet nae wife. 
Ay, press your hand upon my heart, 

And press it mair and mair, — 
Or it will burst the silken twine, 

Sae Strang is its despair I 

O wae 's me for the hour, Willie, 

Wlien we thegither met, — 
O wae 's me for the time, Willie, 

That our first tryst was set ! 
O wae 's me for the loanin' green 

Where we were wont to gae, — 
And wae 's me for the destmie, 

That gart me luve thee sae I 

O I dinna mind my words, Willie, 

I downa seek to blame, — 
But O ! it 's hard to Uve, WiUie, 

And dree a warld's shame ! 
Het tears are hailin' ower your cheek, 

And haihn' ower your cliin ; 
Why weep ye sae for worthlessness, 

For sorrow and for sin ? 



46 MYHEIDISLIKE 

I 'm weary o' this warld, Willie, 

And sick wi' a' I see, — 
I camia live as I lia'e lived, 

Or be as I should be. 
But fauld unto your heart, Willie, 

The heart that still is thine, — 
And kiss ance mair the wliite, white cheek, 

Ye said was red langsyne. 

A stoun' gaes tlu'ough my held, Willie, 

A sah stoun' through my heart, — 
O I hand me up and let me Idss 

Thy brow ere we twa pairt. 
Anither, and anither yet I — 

How fast my hfe-strings break ! — 
Fareweel ! fareweel ! tlu-ough yon khk-yard 

Step lichtly for my sake ! 

The lav'rock in the Hft, Willie, 

That lilts far ower our held. 
Will sing the morn as merrihe 

Abune the clay-cauld deid ; 
And this green turf we 're sittui' on, 

Wi' dew-draps shimmerin' sheen, 



TO REND, WILLIE. 47 

Will hap the heart that luvit thee 
As warld has seldom seen. 

But O I remember me, Wilhe, 

On land where'er ye be, — 
And O ! think on the leal, leal heart, 

That ne'er luvit ane but thee ! 
And O I tliink on the cauld, cauld mools, 

Tliat file my yellow hair, — 
That kiss the cheek, and kiss the clmi, 

Ye never sail kiss mair I 



THE MADMAN'S LOVE. 



Ho ! Flesh and Blood ! sweet Flesh and Blood 

As ever strode on earth I 
Welcome to Water and to Wood, — 

To all a Madman's mulh. 
This tree is mine, tliis leafless tree 

That 's writhen o'er the linn ; 
The stream is mine, that fitfully 

Pours forth its sullen din. 
Their lord am I ; and still my dream 
Is of this Tree, — is of that Stream. 

The Tree, the Stream, — a deadly Twain ! 

They will not hve apart ; 
The one rolls thundering through my brain, 

The other smites my heart : 
Ay, tliis same leafless, fire-scathed tree, 

That groweth by the rock. 
Shakes its old sapless arms at me. 

And would my madness mock ! 
The slaves are saucy, — well they know 
Good service did they long ago. 



THE madman's love. 49 

I 've lived two lives : Tlie first is past 

Some Imncli-ed years or more ; 
But still the present is o'ercast 

With visioiiings of yore. 
This tree, tliis rock, that's cushioned sweet 

With tufts of savoiy thyme, 
Tliat unseen river, wliich doth greet 

Our ears with its nide rhyme, 
Were then as noAV, — they fomi the chain 
That links the present \vith past pain. 

Sweet Flesh and Blood I how deadly chiU 

These milk-wliite fijigers be ! 
The feathery ribs of ice-bound rill 

Seem not so cold to me ; — 
But press them on this burning brow 

Wliich glows hke molten brass, 
'Twill thaw them soon; then thou shalt know 

How ancient visions pass 
Before mine eyes, like shapes of hfe, 
Kindling old loves and deadly strife. 

Drmk to me fii-st ! — nay, do not scorn 
These sparkling dews of night; 
5 



50 THE MADMANS LOVE. 

I pledge tliee in the silver horn. 

Of yonder moonlct bright : 
'Tis stinted measure now, but soon 

Thy cup shall overflow ; 
It half was spilled two hours agone, 

That little flowers might grow, 
And weave for me fine robes of silk ; 
For wliich good deed, stars drop them milk. 

Nay, take the horn into thy hand, 

The goodly silver horn. 
And quaff it off At my command 

Each flower-cup, ere the mom, 
Shall brimful be of glittering dews, 

And then we '11 have large store 
Of heaven's own vintage ripe for use. 

To pledge our healths tlnice o'er ; 
So skink the can as maiden free. 
Then troll the merry bowl to me ! 

Hush ! — drink no more ! for now the trees, 

In yonder gi-and old wood, 
Burst forth in sinless melodies 

To cheer my solitude ; 



THE madman's love. 51 

Trees sing thus every night to me, 

So monmfiilly and slow, — 
They tliink, dear hearts, 't were well for me, 

Could large tears once forth flow 
From tliis hard frozen eye of mine, 
As freely as they stream from tliine. 

Ay, ay, they sing right passing well, 

And pleasantly in tune, 
To midnight winds a canticle 

That floats up to the moon ; 
And she goes wandering near and far 

Tlirough yonder vahlted skies, 
No nook whereof but hath a star 

Shed for me from her eyes ; — 
She knows I cannot weep, but she 
AVeeps worlds of hght for love of me ! 

Yes, in her bower of clouds she weeps 

Night after night for me, — 
Tlie lonely man that sadly keeps 

Watch by the blasted tree. 
She spreads o'er these lean ribs her beams, 

To scare the cutting cold ; 



52 THE madman's love. 

She lends me light to read my dreams, 

And rightly to mifold 
The mysteries that make men mad, 
Or wise, or wild, or good, or bad. 

So lovingly she shines through me, 

Without me and within. 
That even thou, methinks, might'st see, 

Beneath this Hesh so thin, 
A heart that like a ball of fh*e 

Is ever blazing there. 
Yet dieth not ; for still the l^Te 

Of heaven soothes its despair, — 
The lyre that sounds so sadly sweet, 
When wmds and woods and waters meet. 

Hush ! hush ! so sang yon ghastly wood. 

So moaned the sullen stream 
One night, as two on this rock stood 

Beneath this same moonbeam : — 
Nay, start not I — one was Flesh and Blood, 

A dainty, straight-limbed dame. 
That clung to me and sobbed, — O God 

Struggling with maiden shame, 



THE M A D I\I A N ' S LOVE. S3 

She faltered forth her love, and swore, — 
* On land or sea, thine evermore I ' 

# 
By Wood, by Water, and by Wind, 

Yea, by the blessed light 
Of the brave moon, that maiden kind 

Eternal faith did phght ; 
Yea, by the rock on which we stood, — 

Tliis altar-stone of yore, — 
That loved one said, ' On land or flood, 

Tliine, thine for evermore I ' 
Tlie earth reeled round, I gasped for breath, 
I loved, and was beloved till death ! 

I felt upon my brow a kiss, 

Upon my cheek a tear ; 
I felt that now hfe's sum of bliss 

Was more than heart could bear. 
Life's sum of bliss ? say rather pain, 

For heart to find its mate. 
To love, and be beloved again. 

Even when the hand of Fate 
Motions farewell I — and one must be 
A wanderer on the faithless sea. 



64: Til E M A D M A N S LOVE. 

Ay, Land or Sea ! for, mark me now, 

Next morrow o'er the foam, 
Sword girt to side, and helm on brow, 

I left a sorrowing home ; 
Yet still I lived as very part 

Even of this sainted rock, 
Where fii'st that loved one's tristful heart 

Its secret treasure broke 
In my love-thirsting ear alone, 
Here, here, on tliis huge altar-stone. 

Hear'st thou the busy sounds that come 

From yonder glittering shore : 
The madness of the doubling drum. 

The naker's sullen roar, — 
The wild and shrilly strains that swell 

From each bright brassy horn, — 
The fluttering of each penoncel 

By knightly lance upborne, — 
The clear ring of each temj)ered shield, 
And proud steeds neighing far afield ? 

Sweet Flesh and Blood I my talc 's not told, 
'T is scantly well begun : — 



THE madman's love. 55" 

Our vows were passed, in heaven enrolled, 

And then next moiTow's sun 
Saw banners wa\'ing in the wind, 

And tall barks on the sea : 
Gloiy before, and Love beliuid, 

Marshalled proud chivalrie, 
As eveiy valor-freighted sliip 
Its gilt prow in the wave did dip. 

And then passed o'er a meny time, — 

A roysteiing gamesome hfe, 
Till cheeks were tamied with many a clime. 

Brows scarred in many a strife. 
But what of that ? Year after year, 

In every battle's shock, 
Or 'mid the storms of ocean di'ear, 

My heart clung to tliis rock ; 
Was with its very being blent, 
Sucking from it brave nomishment. 

All life, all feeling, every thought 

Was centred in tliis spot ; 
The unforgetting bemg wrought 

Upon the Unforgot. 



56 THE madman's love. 

Time fleeted on; but lime ne'er dimmed 
The picturings of the heart, — 

Freshly as when they first were Hmned, 
Truth's fadeless tints would start ; 

Yes ! wheresoe'er Life's bark might steer, 

This changeless heart was anchored here. 

Ha ! laugh, sweet Flesh and Blood, outright, 

Nor smother honest glee, 
Your time is now ; but ere this night 

Hath travelled over me, 
My time shall come ; and then, ay, then 

The wanton stars shall reel 
Like drunkards all, when we madmen 

Upraise our laughter peal. 
I see-the cause: the Twain, — the One, — 
The Shape that gibbered in the sun ! 

You pinch my \\T.ist, you press my knee, 

With fingers long and small ; 
Light fetters these, — not so on me 

Did heathen shackles fall. 
When I was captived in the fight 

On Candy's fatal shore ; 



THE madman's love. 57- 

Aiid papiims wou a battered kiiiglit, 

A living well of gore ; — 
How the knaves smote me to tlie gi'omid, 
And hewed me like a tree all round I 

They hammered irons on my hand, 

And hons on my knee ; 
They bound me fast with many a band, 

To pillar and to ti-ee ; 
They flung me in a loathsome pit, 

"Wliere loathly things were rife, — 
Wliere newte, and toad, and rat would sit, 

Debating for my life, 
On my breast bone ; wliile one and all 
Hissed, fought, and voided on then* tlirail. 

Yet hved I on, and, madman-like, 

With unchanged heart I lay ; 
No venom to its core could strike. 

For it was far away : — 
'T was even here beside tliis Tree, 

Its Tiy sting-place of yore. 
Where that fond maiden swore to me, 

* Thine, tliine, for evermore.' 



58 THE madman's love. 

Faith in her vow made that pit seem 
The palace of Arabian dream. 

And so was passed a weary time, 

How long I cannot tell, 
'T was years ere in that snnny clime 

A sunbeam on me fell. 
But from that tomb I rushed in tears, 

The fetters fell from me, 
They rusted through with damp and years, 

And rotted was the tree, 
"When the Undying crawled from night, — 
From loathsomeness, into God's hght. 

O Lord ! there was a flood of sound 

Came rushing through my ears. 
When I arose from underground, 

A wild thing shedding tears : — 
The voices of glad birds and brooks, 

And eke of greenwood tree, 
With all the long-remembered looks 

Of earth, and sky, and sea, 
Danced madly through my 'wildered brain, 
And shook me like a wind-swung chain. 



THE MAD MANS LOVE. 59 

Men marvelled at the ghastly form 

That sat before the sun, — 
Tliat laughed to scorn the peltmg storm, 

Nor would the thunders shun ; 
The bearded Shape that gibbered sounds 

Of uncouth lore and lands, 
Struck awe mto these Heathen hounds. 

Who, liftmg up their hands, 
Blessed the wild prophet,>and then brought 
Ptaiment and food unthanked, unsought. 

I have a di-eaming of the sea, — 

A dreaming of the land, — 
A dreaming that again to me 

Belonged a good knight's brand, — 
A dreaming that tliis brow was pressed 

"With plumed helm once more, 
That hnked mail re clad this breast 

When I retrod the shore. 
The blessed shores of my fatherland, 
And knelt in prayer upon its strand. 

* Years furrow brows and channel cheeks. 
But should not chase old loves away ; 



60 THE madman's love. 

The language which tme heart fu-st speaks, 
That langTiage must it hold for aye.' 

This poesie a war-worn man 
Did mutter to himself one night, 

As upwards to this cliff he ran ; 
That shone in the moonlight ; 

And by the moonlight curiously, 

He scanned the bark of this old tree. 

' No change is here, all things remain 

As they were years ago ; 
With self-same voice the old woods playne. 

When sMUy winds do blow, — 
Still murmuring to itself, the stream 

Rolls o'er its rocky bed, — 
Still smiling in its quiet dream, 

The small flower nods its head ; 
And I stand here,' the War-worn said, 
' Like Nature's heart unaltered.' 

Now, Flesh and Blood, that sits by me 

On this bare ledge of stone, 
So sat that Childe of chivalrie, 

One summer eve alone. 



THE madman's love. 61 

I saw him, and metlioiiglit he seemed 

Like to the bearded Form 
That sat before the siin, and gleamed 

Defiance to the storm ; 
I saw him in his war- weed sit, 
And other Two before liim flit. 

Yes, in the shadow of that tree, 

And motionless as stone. 
Sat the War-worn, while mirthfully 

The other Two passed on ; — 
By heaven I one was a comely bride, 

Her face gleamed m the moon. 
As riclily as in full-fleshed pride, 

Bright roses burst in June ; 
Methought she was the maiden mild. 
That wliilome loved the wandering Childe ! 

But it was not her former love 

That wandered with her there, — 
O, no ! long absence well may move 

A maiden to despair ; 
Old loves we cast unto the winds. 

Old vows into the sea, 



62 THE madman's love. 

'Tis lightsome for all gentle minds 

To be as fancy free. 
So the Vow-pledged One loved another, 
And wantoned with a yonnger brother. 

I heard a dull, hoarse, chuckle sound, 

Beside that trysting-tree ; 
I saw uprising from the ground, 

A ghastly shape like me. 
But no ! — it was the War-worn wight, 

That pale as whited wall, 
Strode forth into the moonshine bright. 

And let the hoarse sounds fall. 
A voice uprushing from the tomb 
Than his, were less fulfilled with doom. 

' Judgment ne'er sleeps I ' the War-worn said, 

As striding into light. 
He stood before that shuddering maid. 

Between her and that knight. 
Judgment ne'er sleeps ! 't is wondrous odd. 

One gurgle, one long sigh. 
Ended it all. Upon this sod 

Lay one wath unclosed eye, 



THE madman's love. 63 

And then tlie boiling linn that night, 
Flnng on its banks a lady bright. 

She tripped towards me as you have tripped, 

Pale maiden I and as cold ; 
She sipped A\dth me as you have sipped, 

Night dews, and then I told 
To her as you, my weaiy tale 

Of double life and pain ; 
And thawed her fingers cliill and pale 

Upon my burning brain ; — 
Tliat daintiest piece of Flesh on earth, 
I welcomed to all my mirth. 

And then I pressed her icy hand 

Within my burning palm, 
And told her tales of that far land, 

Of sunsliine, flowers, and balm ; 
I told her of the damp, dark hole, 

The fetters and the tree, 
And of the slimy tilings that stole 

O'er shuddering flesh so free : 
Yea, of the Bearded Ghastliness, 
That sat in the sun's loveliness. 



64 THE madman's love. 

I welcomed Iier, I welcome thee, 

To sit upon tliis stone, 
And meditate all night with me, 

On ages that are gone ; 
To dream again each marvellous dream, 

Of passion and of truth, 
And reconstruct each shattered beam 

That glorified glad youth. 
These were the days ! — hearts then could feel. 
Eyes weep, and slumbers o'er them steal. 

But not so now. The second life 

That wearied hearts must live, 
Is woven with that thread of strife, — 

Forget not, nor Forgive ! 
Fu-es, scorching fij-es, run through our veins, 

Our corded sinews crack, 
And molten lead boils in our brains. 

For marrow to the back. 
Ha ! ha ! What 's Life ? Tliink of the joke, 
The fiercest fire still ends in smoke. 

Fill up the cup ! fill up the can ! 

Drink, drink, sweet Flesh and Blood, 



THE madman's love. 65 

Tlie health of the grim bearded man 

That haunteth sohtude ; — 
The wood pom-s forth its melodies, 

Aiid stars whirl fast around ; 
Yon moon-ship scuds before the breeze, — 

Hark, how sky -billows sound ! 
Drink, Flesh and Blood I then trip with me, 
One measure round the Madman's Tree I 



HALBERT THE GRIM. 



There is blood on that brow, 
There is blood on that hand ; 

There is blood on that hauberk, 
And blood on that brand. 

O ! bloody all o'er is 
Ilis war-cloak, I weet ; 

He is wrapped in the cover 
Of murder's red sheet. 

There is pity in man, — 

Is there any in liim ? 
No ! ruth were a strange guest 

To Halbert the Grim. 

The hardest may soften, 

The fiercest repent ; 
But the heart of Grim Halbert 

May never relent. 



HALBERT THE GRIM. 67 

Death doing on earth, is 

For ever his ciy ; 
And pillage and plunder 

His hope in the sky I 

'Tis midnight, deep midnight, 

And dark is the heaven ; 
Sir Halbert, in mockeiy. 

Wends to be shriven. 

He kneels not to stone, 

And he bends not to wood ; 
But he swung round his brown blade, 

And hewed down the Rood I 

He stuck his long sword, with 

Its point in the earth ; 
And he prayed to its cross liilt, 

In meckery and mirth. 

Thus lowly he louteth. 

And mimibles his beads ; 
Then hghtly he riseth. 

And homeward he speeds. 



68 H ALBERT THE GRIM. 

His steed hurries homewards, 

Dai-kHng and dim ; 
Kight fearful its prances 

With Halbert the Grim. 

Still fiercer it tramples, 
The spur gores its side ; 

Now downward and downward 
Grmi Halbert doth ride. 

The brown wood is threaded, 
The gray flood is past, 

Yet hoarser and wilder 
Moans ever the blast. 

No star lends its taper, 
No moon sheds her glow ; 

For dark is the dull path 
That Baron must go. 

Though starless the sky, and 
No moon shines abroad, 

Yet, flashing with fire, all 
At once gleams the road. 



HALBERT THE GRIM. 69 

And his black steed, I trow, 

As it galloped on, 
With a hot sulphiu: halo, 

And flame -flash all shone. 

From eye and from nostril, 

Out gushed the pale flame, 
And from its chafed mouth, the 

Churned fii-e-froth came. 

Tliey are two ! they are two I — 

They are coal black as night, 
Tliat now staunclily follow 

That grim Baron's flight. 

In each lull of the wild blast, 

Out breaks their deep yell : 
'Tis the slot of the doomed one, 

Tliese hounds track so well. 

Ho ! dowaiward, still downward. 

Sheer slopeth his way ; 
No let hath liis progress. 

No gate bids him stay. 



70 H A L B E R T T n E G R I M . 

No noise had his horse -hoof 

As onward it sped ; 
But silent it fell, as 

The foot of the dead. 

Now redder and redder 
Flares far its bright eye, 

Aiid harsher these dark hounds 
Yell out their fierce cry. 

Sheer downward ! right downward I 
Then dashed life and limb, 

As careering to hell, 

Sunk Halbert the Grim ! 



TRUE LOVERS DIRGE. 



Some love is light and fleets away, 
Heigho ! the Wind and Rain ; 

Some love is deep and scorns decay, 
All, well-a-day 1 in vain. 

Of loyal love I sing tliis lay, 
Heigho ! the Wind and Rain ; 

'T is of a knight and lady gay, 
Ah, well-a-day I bright tw^ain. 

He loved her, — heart loved ne'er so well, 
Heigho ! the Wind and Rain I 

She was a cold and prond damsel, 
All, well-a-day I and vam. 

He loved her, — oh, he loved her long, 
Heigho ! the Wind and R.aiii ; 

Bnt she for love gave bitter wi'ong. 
Ah, well-a-day ! Disdain I 



72 TRUE love's dirge. 

It is not meet for knight like me, 
Heigho I the Wind and Rain ; 

Though scorned, love's recreant to be, 
Ah, well-a-day ! Refrain. 

That brave knight buckled to Ms brand, 
Heigho ! the Wind and Rain ; 

And fast he sought a foreign strand. 
Ah, wcU-a-day I in pain. 

He wandered wide by land and sea, 
Heigho ! the Wind and Rain ; 

A mirror of bright constancye, 
Ah, well-a-day ! in vain. 

He would not chide, he would not blame, 
Heigho ! the Wind and Rain ; 

But at each shrine he breathed her name, 
Ah, well-a-day ! Amen ! 

He would not carpe, he would not sing, 
Heigho ! the Wind and Rain ; 

But broke his heart with love -longing, 
Ah, well-a-day ! poor brain. 



TRUE love's dirge. 73. 

He scorned to \veep, he scorned to sigh, 

Heigho I the Wind and Rain ; 
But Kke a true knight he could die, — 

All, well-a-day ! hfe 's vain. 

The banner which that brave knight bore, 

Heigho I the Wind and Rain ; 
Had scrolled on it *'iraitl) Qruermore," 

All, well-a-day 1 again. 

Tliat banner led the Cluistian van, 

Heigho ! the Wind and Rain ; 
Agahist Seljuck and Turcomon, 

All I well-a-day I blight train. 

Tlie fight was o'er, the day was done, 

Heigho ! the Wind and Rain ; 
But lacking was that loyal one, — 

Ah I well-a-day I sad pain. 

They found liim on the battle-field, 

Heigho ! the Wind and Rain ; 
With broken sword and cloven sliield, 

All I well-a-day I in twain. 



74 TRUE love's diege. 

Tliey found him pillowed on the dead, 
Heigho J the Wind and Rain ; 

Tlie blood-soaked sod his bridal bed, 
Ah, well-a-day ! the Slain. 

On his pale brow, and paler cheek, 
Heigho I the "Wind and Rain ; 

The white moonshine did fall so meek, — 
All, well-a-day I sad strain. 

They lifted up the True and Brave, 
Heigho ! the Wind and Rain ; 

And bore him to his lone cold grave, 
Ah, well-a-day I in pain. 

They buried him on that far strand, 
Heigho ! the Wind and Rain ; 

His face turned towards liis love's OAvn land. 
Ah, weU-a-day I how vain. 

The wearied heart was laid at rest, 
Heigho ! the Wind and Rain ! 

To di-eam of her it liked best, 
Ah. well-a-day! again. 



TRUE love's dirge. 75 

They nothing said, but many a tear, 

Heigho I the "Wind and Rain, 
Rained do^\T.i on that knight's lowly hicr, 

All, well-a-day I amain. 

Tliey nothing said, but many a sigh, 

Heigho I the Wind and Rain ; 
Told how they wished like him to die, 

Ah I weli-a-day I sans stain. 

With solemn mass and orison, 

Heigho I the Wind and Jlain, 
They reared to him a cross of stone. 

Ah, well-a-day ! in pain. 

And on it gi-aved with daggers bright, 

Heigho ! the Wind and Ram ; 
^cre lies a true anb gentle Hnigl)t, 

Ah, wcll-a-day ! Amen ! 

requiescat. in. pace. 



THE DEMON LADY. 



Again in my chamber ! 

Again at my bed I 
"With thy smile sweet as sunshine. 

And hand cold as lead I 
I know thee, I know thee ! — 

Nay, start not, my sweet ! 
Tliese golden robes shrank up, 

And showed me thy feet ; 
These golden rcbes slnrank up. 

And tafTety thin, 
"Wliile out crept the s^Tiibols 

Of Death and of Sin I 

Bright, beautiful devil I 
Pass, pass from me now ! 

For the damp dew of death 
Gathers thick on my brow : 

And bind up thy girdle, 
Nor beauties chsclose, 



THE D E M O N L AD Y. 77 

More dazzingly white 

Than the WTeath-diifted snows : 
And away with thy Idsses ; 

My heart waxes sick, 
As thy red Ups, Hke worms, 
Travel over my cheek I 

Ha ! press me no more with 

That passionless hand, 
'T is wliiter than milk, or 

The foam on the strand ; 
'T is softer than do^vn, or 

The silken-leafed flower ; 
But colder than ice thrills 

Its touch at this hour. 
Like the finger of Death 

From cerements umrolled, 
Thy hand on my heart falls 

Dull; clammy, and cold. 

Nor bend o'er my pillow, — 

Thy raven black hair 
O'ershadows my brow with 

A deeper despair ; 



78 T H E D E M O N L A D Y . 

These ringlets thick falling 

Spread fire through my brain, 
And my temples are throbbing 

With madness again. 
The moonlight ! the moonlight I 

The deep -winding bay I 
There are two on that sti-and, 

And a ship far away I 

In its silence and beanty, 

Its passion and power, 
Love breathed o'er the land, 

Like the sonl of a flower. 
The billows were chiming 

On pale yellow sands ; 
And moonshine was gleaming 

On small ivory hands. 
There were bowers by the brook's brink 

And flowers bm'sting free ; 
There were hot lips to snck forth 

A lost soul from me ! 

Now, mountain and meadow, 
Frith, forest and river. 



THE DEMON LADY.. 79 

Are mingling with shadows, — 

Are lost to me ever. 
The sunlight is fading, 

Small bhds seek their nest; 
While happy hearts, flower-like, 

Sink sinless to rest, 
But II — 't is no matter ; — 

Ay, kiss cheek and chin ; 
Kiss, — kiss, — thou hast won me, 

Bright, beautiful Sin! 



ZARA. 



A siLVEUY veil of pure moonlight 
Is glancing o'er tlie quiet watei*, 
And 01 't is beautiful and bright 
As the soft smile of Selim's daughter 



' Sleep, moonlight ! sleep upon the wave, 
And hush to rest each rising billow. 
Then dwell within the mountain cave, 
Where this fond breast is Zara's pillow. 

• Shine on, thou blessed moon I brighter still, 
O, shine thus ever night and morrow ; 
For day -break mantling o'er the hill, 
But wakes my love to fear and sorrow.' 

'T was thus the Spanish youth beguiled 
The rising fears of Selim's daughter; 
And on their loves the pale moon smiled, 
Unweeting of the morrow's slaughter. 



ZARA. 81 

Alas I too early rose that morn, 

On harnessed knight and fierce soldada, — 

Alas 1 too soon the Moorish horn 

And tambour rang in Old Grenada. 

The dew yet bathes the dreaming flower, 
The mist yet lingers in the valley, 
When Selim and his Zegris' power 
From port and postern sternly sally. 

Many ! it was a gallant sight 

To see the plain with armour glancing, 

As on to Alpuxara's height 

Proud Selim' s chivalry were prancing. 

The knights dismount ; on foot they climb 

The rugged steeps of Alpuxara ; 

In fateful and unhappy time, 

Proud Selim found liis long-lost Zara. 

They sleep, — in sleep they smile and di-eam 
Of happy days they ne'er shall number; 
Then* hps breathe sounds, — their spirits seem 
To hold communion wliile they slumber. 
7 



82 Z A U A . 

A moment gazed the stern old Moor, 
A scant tear in his eye did gather, 
For as he gazed, she muttered o'er 
A blessing on her cruel father. 

The hand that grasped the crooked blade, 
Relaxed its gripe, then clutched it stronger ; 
The tear that that dark eye hath shed 
On the swart cheek, is seen no longer. 

'T is past I — the bloody deed is done, 
A father's hand hath sealed the slaughter ! 
Yet in Grenada many a one 
Bewails the fate of Selim's daughter. 

And many a Moorish damsel hath 

Made pilgrimage to Alpuxara ; 

And breathed her vows, where Selim's wrath 

O'ertook the Spanish youth and Zara. 



OUGLOUS ONSLAUGHT. 

A Turkish Battle-Sons. 



TcHASSAN Ouglou is on ! 
Tchassan Ouglou is on ! 
Ajid with him to battle 
Tlie Faithful are gone. 

AUah, il aUah ! 
Tlie tambour is rung ; 
Into his war-saddle 
Each Spahi hath swung : — 
Now the blast of the desert 
Sweeps over the land, 
Aiid the pale foes of heaven 
Gleam in each Damask brand. 

AUah, il aUah I 

Tchassan Ouglou is on I 
Tchassah Ouglou is on ! 
Abroad on the winds, all 
His Horse-tails are thrown. 



84 OUGLOU'S ONSLAUGHT. 

' T is the rash of the eagle 
Down cleaving through air, — 
'T is the bound of the lion 
When roused from his lair. 
Ha ! fiercer and wilder 
And madder by far, — 
On thunders the might 
Of the Moslemite war. 
Allah, il allah ! 

Forth lash their wild horses, 
With loose -flowing rein ; 
The steel grides their flank, 
Their hoof scarce dints the plain 
Like the mad stars of heaven, 
Now the Delis rush out ; 
O'er the thunder of cannon 
Swells proudly their shout, — 
And sheeted with foam, ■ 

Like the surge of the sea, , 

Over wreck, death, and woe, rolls : 

Each fierce Osmanli. ) 

Allah, il allah ! ' 

I 
\ 



OUGLOU'S ONSLAUGHT. 85 

Fast forward, still forward, 

Man follows on man, 

While the horse-tails are dashing 

Afar in the van ; — 

See where yon pale crescent 

And green turban shine, 

There smite for the Prophet, 

And Othman's gTeat Hne I 

Allah, ilallah! 
The fierce war-cry is given, — 
For the flesh of the Giaour 
Shriek the vultures of heaven. 

Allah, ilallah! 

Allah, il allah ! 
How tliick on the plain, 
The infidels cluster 
Like ripe, hea^^ grain. 
The reaper is coming, 
The crooked siclde 's bare. 
And the shout of the Faithful 
Is rending the air. 
Bismillah I Bismillah ! 
Each far-flashing brand 



86 OUGLOU'S ONSLAUGHT. 

Hath piled its red harvest 
Of death on the land I 
Allah, il allah ! 

Mark, mark yon green turban 
That heaves tlnough the fight, 
Like a tempest-tost bark 
'Mid the thunders of night; 
See partmg before it, 
On right and on left, 
How the dark billows tumble, — 
Each saucy crest cleft I 
Ay, horseman and footman 
Pwccl back in dismay. 
When the sword of stern Ouglou 
Is lifted to slay. 
Allah, il allah! 

Allah, il allah ! 
Tchassan Ouglou is on ! 
O'er the Lifidel breast 
Hath liis fiery barb gone : 
The IjuUets rain on him, 
Tiicy fall thick as hail ; 



OUGLOU'S ONSLAUGHT. 87 

The lances crash round him 
Like reeds in the gale, — 
But onward, still onward. 
For God and his law, 
Tlu'ough the dark strife of Death 
Bursts the gallant Pacha. 
Allah, il allah ! 

In the wake of liis might, — 
Li the path of the wind, 
Pour the sons of the Faithful, 
Careering beliind ; 
And bending to battle 
O'er each high saddle-bow, 
With the sword of Azrael, 
They sweep down the foe. 

Allah, il allah! 
'T is Ouglou that cries, — 
In the breath of his nostril 
The Infidel dies ! 

Allah, il allah ! 



ELFINLAND WUD. 

An imitation of the Ancient Scottish. Romantic Ballad. 



Erl William has mimtit his gude grai stede, 
(Merrie lemis mmiehchton the sea,) 

And graithit him in ane enmh weid. 

(Swa bonnihe bhimis the haAvthoni tree.) 

Eli WiUiam rade, Erl WiUiam ran, — 
(Fast they lyde quhahive trewhe,) 

Quhyll the Elfinland wad that gu^ie Erl wan - 
(Blink ower the burn, sweit may, to mee.) 

Elfinland wud is dern and dreir, 
(Merrie is the grai gowkis sang,) 

Bot ilk ane leafis qnhyt as silver cleir, 
(Licht maids schoirt the road swa lang.) 

It is midirneth ane braid aik tree, 

(Hey and a lo, as the leavis grow grein,) 

Thair is kythit ane bricht ladic, 

(Manie flouris bhime quhilk ar nocht seen.) 



E L F I N L A N D W U D . 89 

Around liir slepis the quliyte munescliyne, 

(Meik is mayclen midir kell,) 
Hir lips bin lyke the bliide reid vryne ; 

(The rois of flomis hes sweitest smell.) 

It was al bricht quhare that ladie stiide, 

(Far my luve, fure ower the sea.) 
Bot dern is the lave of Elfinland wud, 

(The knicht priivit false that ance luvit me.) 

The ladle's handis were quhyte als milk, 
(Ringis my luve wore mair nor ane.) 

Hir skin Avas safter nor the silk ; 

(Lilly bricht schinis my luvis halse bane.) 

Save you, save you, fajr ladie. 

( Gentil liert schawls gentil deed. ) 
Standand alane undir tliis auld tree ; 

(Deh till knicht is nobil steid.) 

Burdalane, if ye dwall here, 

( jMy hert is layed upon this land. ) 
I wud hke to live your fere ; 

(The schippis cum sailin to the strand.) 



90 ELFINLAND WUD. 

Nevir ane word that ladie sayd ; 

(Scliortest rede hes least to mend.) 
Bot on liir harp she evir played ; 

( Thare nevir was mirth that had nocht end. ) 

Gang ye eist, or fare ye wast, 
(Ilka stem blinlds blythe for thee,) 

Or tak ye the road that ye hke best, 
(Al ti'ew feeris ryde in cumpanie.) 

Erl William loutit doun full lowe ; 

(Luvis first seid bin courtesie.) 
And swung liir owir his saddil bow, 

( E.yde quha Hstis, ye '11 hnk with mee. ) 

Scho flang her harp on that auld tree, 
( The wynd pruvis aye ane harpir gude. ) 

And it gave out its music free ; 

(Birdis sing blythe in gay green wud.) 

The harp playde on its leeful lane, 

(Land is my luvis yellow hair.) 
Quhill it has charmit stock and stane, 

(Furtli by firth, deir lady fare.) 



ELFINLAND WUD. 91 

Quhan sclio was muntit him behyiid, 
(Blytli be hertis quliilkis luve ill^ utlier.) 

Awa thai flew lyke flaucht of wind ; 
( Kin kens kin, and bamiis than* mither. ) 

Nevir ane word that ladie spak ; 

(]Mim be maydens men besyde.) 
Bot that stout steid did nicher and schaik ; 

(Smal things hmnbil hertis of piyde.) 

About liis breist scho plet her handis ; 

(Luvand be maydins quhan thai lyke.) 
Bot thay were cauld as yron bandis. 

(Tlie winter bauld bmdis sheuch and syke.) 

Yom* handis ar cauld, faji ladie, sayd hee, 
( The caulder hand the trewer hairt, ) 

I trembU als the Kef on the tree ; 

(Licht caussis muve aid friendis to pant.) 

Lap your mantil owir your heid, 

(My luve was clad in the reid scarlett,) 

And spredd yom- kirtil owir my stede ; 
(Thair nevir was joie that had nae lett,) 



92 ELFIN LAND WUD. 

The ladie sclio walcl noclit dispute ; 

(Nocht woman is sclio tliat laikis ane tuiig.) 
But caulder hir fingeris about him cruik. 

(Sum sangis ar writt, hot nevir sung.) 

This Elfinland wud will neir half end ; 

(Hunt quha listis, dayhcht for mee.) 
I wuld I culd ane Strang bow bend, 

( Al undirneth the grene wud tree.) 

Thai rade up, and they rade doun, 
(Wearilie wearis wan nicht away.) 

Erl Wilham's heart mair cauld is grown ; 
(Hey, luve mine, quhan dawis the day?) 

Your hand hes cauld on my briest-bane, 
( Smal hand hes my ladie fair,) 

My horss he can nocht stand his lane, 
(For cauldness of tliis midnicht air.) 

Erl William turnit his heid about ; 

(The braid mune schinis in lift richt cleir.) 
Twa Ellin een are glentin owt, 

(My luvis een like twa sternis appere.) 



E L F I N L A N D W U D . 93 

Twa brcnnancl epie, sua bricht and full, 

(Bonnilie blinkis my lacleis ee,) 
Flang fii-e flauchtis fra ane peelit skull ; 

(Sum siclits ar ugsomlyk to see.) 

Twa rawis of quhyt teetli then did say, 
(Cauld the boysteous wiiidis sal blaw,) 

O, lang and weaiy is our way, 

(And donkir yet the dew maun fa.') 

Far o-wir mure, and far owir fell, 

(Hark the sounding huntsmen thrang;) 

Thorow dingle, and tliorow dell, 
(Luve, come, list the merlis sang.) 

Thorow fu-c, and thoroAV flude, 

(Mudy mindis rage lyk a sea;) 
Thorow slauchtir, thoro^v blude, 

(A seamless shroAvd weird schaipis for me I) 

And to rede aricht my spell, 

Eeiilie sal nicht wyndis moan, 
Quliill fie and He^-in and raikand Hell, 

Ghaist with ghaist maun wandir on. 



MIDNIGHT AND MOONSHINE. 

— « — 

All earth below, all heaven above, 
In this calm hour, are filled with Love ; 
All sights, all sounds have throbbing hearts, 
In which its blessed fountain starts, 
And gushes forth so fresh and free, 
Like a soul-tluilling melody. 

Look ! look ! the land is sheathed in light, 

And mark the winding stream. 
How, creeping round yon distant height. 

Its ripling waters gleam. 
Its waters flash through leaf and flower, — 

O ! merrily they go ; 
Like living things, then voices pour 

Dim music as they flow. 
Sinless and pure they seek the sea. 
As souls pant for eternity ; — 
Heaven speed their bright course till they sleep 
In the broad bosom of the deep. 

High in mid air, on seraph wing, 
The paley moon is journeying 



MIDNIGHT AND MOO N S H I N E . 95 

111 stillest path of stainless blue ; 
Keen, curious stars are peering through 
Heaven's arch tliis hoiu: ; they dote on her 
With perfect love ; nor can she stir 
Witliin her vaulted halls a pace, 
Ere rusliing out with joyous face, 

These Godkuis of the sky 
Smile, as she glides in lovehness ; 

While every heart beats liigh 
With passion, and breaks forth to bless 

Her loftier divinity. 

It is a smile worth worlds to win, — 
So fuU of love, so void of sin, 
The smile she sheds on these tall trees, 
Stout cliildren of past centmies. 
Each little leaf with feathery Hght, 

Is margined man^ellously ; 
Moveless all droop, in slumberous quiet ; 

How beautiful they be ! 
And blissful as soft infants lulled 

Upon a mother's knee. 

Far down yon dell the melody 
Of a small brook is autUble ; 



96 MIDNIGHT AND MOONSHINE, 

The shadow of a thread-hke tone, — 
It murmurs over root and stone, 

Yet sings of very love its fill ; — 
And hark ! even now, how sweetly shrilly 

It trolls its fairy glee, 
Skywards unto that pure bright one ; 

O I gentle heart hath she, . 
For, leaning down to earth, with pleasure, 
She lists its fond and prattling measure. 

It is indeed a silent night 
Of peace, of joy, and purest light ; — 
No angiy breeze in surly tone. 
Chides the old forest till it moan ; 
Or breaks the dreaming of tlie owl, 

That, warder-like, on yon gi'ay tower, 
Feedeth his melancholy soul 

With visions of departed power ; 
And o'er the ruins Time hath sped, 
jNTods sadly with his spectral head. 

And lo ! even like a giant wight 
Slumbering his battle toils away, 

The sleep-locked city, gleaming bright 
With many a dazzling ray, 



MIDNIGHT AND JI O O N S IH N^ E . 97 

Lies stretched in vastness at my feet ; 
Voiceless the chamber and the street, 

And echoless the hall; — 
Had Death uplift his bony hand 
And smote all living on the land, 

No deeper quiet could fall. 
In tliis religious calm of night. 
Behold, with finger tall and bright, 
Each tapering sphe points to the sky, 
Li a fond, holy ecstasy ; — 
Strange monuments they be of mind, — 
Of feelings dim and undefined. 
Shaping themselves, yet not the less, 
Li forms of passing loveliness, 

God ! tliis is a holy hour : — 
Thy breath is o'er the land ; 

1 feel it in each little flower 

Ai'ound me where I stand, — 
In all the moonsliine scattered fan, 
Above, below me, eveiy^vhere, — 
In every dew-bead glistenmg sheen, 
In eveiy leaf and blade of green, — 
And in this silence grand and deep, 
Wherein thy blessed creatures sleep. 



f)H MID N I G II T AND MOONSHINE. 

The trees hcim] Ibrtli their shadows long 

In gambols o'er the earth, 
To chase each other's innocence 

In quiet, holy mirth ; 
O'er the glad meadows fast they throng, 

Shapes multiform and tall ; 
And lo I for them the chaste moonbeam, 

With broadest light doth faU. 
Mad phantoms all, they onward glide, — 
On swiftest wind they seem to ride 

O'er meadow, mount and stream : 
And now, with soft and silent pace, 

They walk as in a dream, 
While each bright earth-flower hides its flicf; 
Of blushes, in their dim embrace. 

Men say, that in this midnight hour, 
The disembodied have power 
To wander as it liketh them. 
By wizard oak and fairy stream, — 

Through still and solemn places. 
And by old walls and tombs, to dream, 

With pale, cold, mournful faces ^ 
I fear them not ; for they must be 
Spuits of kindest sympathy, 



MIDNIGHT AND MOONSHINE. 99 

Who choose such haunts, and joy to feel 
The beauties of tliis cahii night steal 
Like music o'er them, while they wooed 
Tlie luxuiy of Solitude. 

Welcome, ye gentle spirits ; then, 

Who love and feel for earth-chained men, — 

Wlio, in this hour, delight to dwell 

By moss-clad oak and dripping cell, — 

Who joy to haunt each age-dimmed spot, 

Wliich ruder natures have forgot ; 

And, in majestic sohtude, 

Feel every pulse-stroke thrill of good 

To all around, below, above ; — 

Ye ai-e the co-mates whom I love ! 

While, hngering in this moonshine glade, 

I di'eam of hopes that cannot fade ; 

And pour abroad those phantasies 

That spring from holiest sympathies 

With Nature's moods in this glad hour 

Of silence, moonshine, beauty, power, 

Wlien the busy stir of man is gone, 

And the soul is left with its God alone ! 



THE WATER! THE WATER! 



The Water; the Water! 

The joyous brook for me, 
That tiineth tlirongh the quiet night, 

Its ever-hving glee. 
The Water ! the Water I 

That sleepless merry heart, 
Which gurgles on unstintedly, 

And lovetli to impart 
To all around it some small measure 
Of its own most perfect pleasure. 

The Water ! the Water ! 

The gentle stream for me, 
That gushes from the old gray stone, 

Beside the alder tree. 
The Water ! the Water ! 

That ever-bubbling spring 
I loved and looked on Avliile a child. 

In deepest wondering, — 
And asked it whence it came and went. 
And when its treasures would be spent. 



THE WATErI 101 

The Water ! the Water ! 

The meny, wanton brook, 
That bent itself to pleasure me, 

Like mine owt.i shepherd crook. 
The Water ! the Water ! 

That sang so sweet at noon, 
And sweeter still all night, to wm 

Smiles from the pale proud moon, 
And from the little fauy faces 
That gleam in heaven's remotest places. 

The Water ! the Water ! 

The dear and blessed thing, 
That all day fed the little flowers 

On its banks blossoming. 
Tlie Water ! the Water I 

That murmared in my ear, 
Hymns of a saint-hke pmity, 

Tliat angels well might hear ; 
And wliisper in the gates of heaven, 
How meek a pilgi-mi had been slniveu- 

The Water ! the Water ! 
Where I have shed salt tears, 



102 THE W A T E K. I THE W A T E R ! 

In loneliness and friendliness, 

A thing of tender years. 
The Water I tlie Water ! 

Where I have happy been, 
And showered upon its bosom flowers 

Culled from each meadow green, 
And idly hoped my life would be 
So crowned by love's idolatry. 

The Water I the W^ater I 

My heart yet burns to think 
How cool thy fountain sparkled forth, 

For parched lip to drink. 
The Water ! the Water ! 

Of mine own native glen ; 
The gladsome tongue I oft have heard, 

But ne'er shall hear again ; 
Though fancy fills my ear for aye 
With sounds that five so far away I 

The Water! the Water! 

The mild and glassy wave. 
Upon whose broomy banks I 've longed 

To find my silent grave. 



THE water! the water! 103 

The Water ! the Water ! 

O blessed to me thou ai't ; 
Thus sounding hi life's solitude, 

The music of my heart, 
And Ming it, despite of sadness, 
With di'eamings of departed gladness. 

The Water ! the Water ! 

The mournful pensive tone, 
That whispered to my heart how soon 

Tliis weary life was done. 
The Water I the Water ! 

That rolled so bright and free, 
And bade me mark how beautiful 

Was its soul's purity ; 
And how it glanced to heaven its wave, 
As wandering on it sought its grave. 



THREE FANCIFUL SUPPOSES. 



Were I a breatli of viewless wind, 

As very spirits be, 
Where would I joy at length to find 

I was no longer free ? 
O, Margaret's cheek, 
Whose blushes speak 

Love's purest sympathies, 
Would be the site, 
Where, gleaming bright, 

My prison-dome should rise : 
I 'd live upon that rosy shore, 

And fan it with soft sighs, 
Nor other paradise explore 

Beneath the skies. 

Were I a pranksome Elfin knight, 

Or eke the Faeiye king, 
Who when the moonshine glimmers bright, 

Loves to be wandering ; 
Where would I ride, 



•1- H R E E FANCIFUL SUPPOSES, 10-5 

In all the pride 

Of Elfin chivahy, 
With each sweet sound 
Far floating round, 

Of Faerye minstrelsy ? — 
'T is o'er her neck of drifted snow, 

Her passion-breatliing lip, 
Her dainty cliin and noble brow, 

That I would trip. 

Were I a glossy plumaged bird, 

A small glad voice of song, 
Where would my love-lays aye be heard, — 

Where would I nestle long? — 
In Margaret's ear 
When none were near, 

I 'd strain my little throat, 
To sing fond lays 
Li Margaret's praise. 

That could not be forgot ; 
Then on her bosom would I fall, 

And from it never part, — 
Dizzy with joy, and proud to call 

My home her heart I 



A CAVExVT TO THE WIND. 



Sing high, sing low, thou moody wind, 

It skills not, — for thy glee 
Is ever of a fellow-kind 

With mine own fantasy. 
Go, sadly moan or madly blow 

In fetterless free will, 
Wild spirit of the clouds ! but know 

I ride thy comrade still : 
Loving thy humors, I can be 
Sad, wayward, wild, or mad, like thee. 

Go, and with light and noiseless wing, 
Fan yonder murmuring stream, — 

Brood o'er it, as the sainted thing, 
Tlie spirit of its di'cam ; 

Give to its voice a sweeter tone 
Of calm and heartfelt gladness ; 



A CAVEAT TO THE WIND. .107 

Or, to those old trees, woc-begone, 
Add moan of deeper sadness, — 
It likes me still ; for I can be 
All sympathy of heart, like thee. 

Rush forth, in maddest wi*ath, to rouse 

The billows of the deep ; 
And in the blustering storm, carouse 

With fiends that never weep. 
Go, tear each fluttering rag away, 

Outslniek the mariner, 
And hoarsely knell the memiaid's lay 

Of death and sliipwreck di-ear ; — 
What reck I, since I still dare be 
Harsh, fierce, and pitiless, like thee ? 

I love thy storm-shout on the land, 

Thy storm-shout on the sea ; 
Though shapes of death rise on each hand, 

Dismay troops not with me, 
With hon-cheek, that never showed 

The channel of a tear, 
With haughty heart, that never bowed 

Beneath a dastard fear, 



108 A CAVEAT TO THE WIND. 

I rush with thee o'er land and sea, 
Rejoicing in thy thundering glee. 

Lovest thou those cloisters, old and dim, 

Where ghosts at midnight stray. 
To pour abroad unearthly hymn, 

Ajid fright the stars away ? 
Add to their sighs thy hollow tone 

Of saddest melancholy, — 
For I, too, love such places lone. 

And court such guests unjoUy : 
Such haunts, such mates, in sooth, to me 
Be welcome as they are to thee. 

Blow as thou wilt, blow anywhere. 

Wild spirit of the sky. 
It matters not, — earth, ocean, air. 

Still echoes to my cry, 
' I follow thee ; ' for, where thou art, 

My spirit, too, must be, 
While each chord of this Avayward heart, 

Thrills to thy minstrelsy ; 
And, he that feels so, sure must be 
Meet co-mate for a sln-ew like thee I 



WHAT IS GLORY? WHAT IS FAME? 



What is Glory ? "VMiat is Fame ? 
The echo of a long lost name ; 
A breath, an idle hom-'s brief talk ; 
The shadow of an arrant nought ; 
A flower that blossoms for a day, 

Dying next moiTOW ; 
A stream that lum-ies on its way, 

Singing of soitow ; — 
The last drop of a bootless shower, 
Shed on a sere and leafless bower; 
A rose, stuck in a dead-man's breast, - 
Tliis is the World's fame at the best! 

"Wliat is Fame ? and what is Gloiy ? 

A di-eam, — a jester's lying story. 

To ticlde fools withal, or be 

A theme for second infancy ; 

A joke scrawled on an epitaph; 

A grin at Death's own ghastly laugh ; 



no GLORY AND FAME. 

A visioning that tempts the eye, 
But mocks the touch, — nonentity; 
A rainbow, substanceless as bright, 

rutting for ever 
O'er liill-top to more distant heiglit, 

Nearing us never; 
A bubble blown by fond conceit. 
In very sooth itself to cheat : 
The witch-fire of a frenzied brain ; 
A fortune that to lose were gain ; 
A word of praise perchance of blame ; 
The "wreck of a time-bandied name, — 
Ay, This is glory I — this is Fame I 



THE SOLEMN SONG OF A RIGHTEOUS HE ARTE. 



After the fashion of an early English Poet. 



There is a mighty Noyse of Bells 
R,ushing from the tmi'et free ; 

A solemne tale of Tmtlie it tells, 
O'er Land and Sea, 

How heartes be breaking fast, and then 
Wax whole aoraine. 



o^ 



Poor fluttering Soule I why tremble soe. 
To qiiitt Lyfe's fast decaying Tree ; 

Time woraies its core, and it must bo we 
To Fate's decree ; 

Its last branch breakes, but Thou must soare, 
For Evermore. 

Noe more thy wing shal touch gi'osse Earth ; 
Far under shal its shadows flee, 



112 T ii E SOLEMN SONG O F 

And al its sounds of AVoe or IMirth 

Growe strange to thee. 
Thou wilt not mingle in its noyse, 

Nor court its Joies. 

Fond One I why cling thus unto Life, 
As if its gaudes were meet for thee ; 

Surely its FoUie, Bloodshed, Stryfe, 
Liked never thee ? 

This World growes madder each newe daie, 
Vice beares such sway. 

Couldst thou in Slavish artes excel, 

And crawle uj^on the supple knee, — 

Couldst thou each Woe-worn wretch repel, - 
Tliis Worldes for Thee. 

Not in this Spheare Man ownes a Brother : 
Then seek another. 

Coiddst thou bewi-aie thy Birthright see 
As flatter Guilt's prosperitye, 

And laude Oppressiounes hon blowe, — 
This Worldes for Thee. 

Sithence to this thou wilt not bend, 
Life 's at an end. 



A RIGHTEOUS HEAllTE. 113 

Couldst thou spurn Vertue meanly clad, 

As if 't were spotted Infamy, 
And prayse as Good what is most Bad, — 

Tliis Worldes for Thee. 
Sithence thou canst not will it soe, 

Poor Flutterer goe ! 

If Head with Hearte could so accord, 

Li bond of perfyte Amitie, 
That Falshood raigned in Thoughte, Deed, Word, — 

This Worldes for Thee. 
But scorning guile, Truth-pHghted one I 

Thy race is run. 

Couldst thou laughe loude, when grieved hearts weep. 
And Fiendlyke probe theire Agonye, 

Rich hai-vest here thou soon wouldst reape, — 
Tliis Worldes for Thee ; 

But with the AVeeper thou must weepe. 
And sad watch keep. 

Couldst thou smyle swete when Wrong hath wrung 
The withers of the Poore but Prowde, 

And by the rootes pluck out the- tongue 
That dare be lowde 




114 SONG OF A RIGHTEOUS II E A R T E . 

In Righteous cause, wliate'er may be, — 
This Woiides for Thee. 

This canst thou not I Then, fluttering thing, 

Unstained in thy puritye, 
Sweep towards heaven with tireless wing, — 

Meet Home for Thee. 
Feare not, the crashing of L3rfe's Tree, — 

God's Love guides Thee. 

And thus it is : — these solemn bells, 

Swinging in the turret free, 
And tolling forth theire sad farewells, 

O'er Land and Sea, 
Telle how Hearts breake, full fast, and then 

Growe whole againe. 



MELAXCIIOLYE. 



Adieu 1 al vaine delightes 
Of calm and moonshine nightes ; 
Adieu I al pleasant shade 
That forests thicke have made ; 
Adieu I al musick swete 

That little fountaynes poure, 
When blythe theire waters greete 

The lovesick lyly-floAVi-e. 

Adieu ! the fragrant smel 

Of flowres in boskye dell ; 

And all the merrie notes 

That tril from smal birdes' throates ; 

Adieu I the gladsome lighte 

Of Day, Morne, Noone, or E'en ; 
And welcome gloomy Nighte, 

When not one star is seene. 

Adieu ! the deafening noyse 
Of cities, and the joyes 



1 1 G M E L A N C 11 O L Y E . 

Of Fashioun's sicklie birth ; 
Adieu ! al boysterous mirthe, 
Al pageant, pompe, and state, 

And every fiauntynge thing 
To which the would-be -great 

Of earth in madness cUng. 

Come with me. Melancholy e, 
We '11 live like eremites holie. 
In some deepe uncouthe wild 
Where sunbeame never smylde : 
Come with me, pale of hue, 

To some lone silent spot, 
Where blossom never grewe, 

Which man hath quyte forgot. 

Come, with thy thought-filled eye, 
That notes no passer by. 
And drouping solemne heade. 
Where phansyes strange are bred, 
And saddening thoughts doe brood, 

Which idly strive to bon'ow 
A smyle to vaile thy moode 

Of heart-abyding sorrow. 



MELANCHOLYE. 117 

Come to yon blasted mound 
Of phantom-haunted ground, 
Wliere sphits love to be ; 
And liste the moody glee 
Of nighte-windes as they moane, 

And the ocean's sad replye 
To the wild unhallowed tone 

Of the wandering sea-bhd's cry. 

There sit with me and keep 
Vigil when al doe sleep e ; 
And when the curfeu bell 
Hath rung its moumfull knel, 
Let us together blend 

Our mutual sighes and teai'es, 
Or chaunt some metre penned, 

Of the joies of other yeares. 

Or in cavern hoare and damp, 
Lit by the glow-worm's lampe, 
We '11 muse on the dull theme 
Of Life's heart-sickening di-eame, — 
Of Time's resistlesse powre, — 
Of Hope's deceitful lips, — 



113 ME L AN C HO LYE . 

Of Beauty's short-livde houre, — 
And Glory's dark eclipse I 

Or, wouldst thou rather chuse 
This World's leaf to peruse, 
Beneath some dripping vault 
That scornes rude Time's assaulte ; 
Wliose close-ribbed arches still 

Frown in their green old age, 
And stamp an awefull chill 

Upon that pregnant page ? 

Yes, thither let us turne, 
To this Time-shattered urne. 
And quaintly carved stone, — 
Dim wrackes of ages gone ; 
Here, on this mouldering tomb 

We '11 con that noblest truth. 
The Flesh and Spirit's doome, — 

Dust and Immortall Youthe. 



I AM NOT SAD. 



I AM not sad, though sadness seem 

At tunes to cloud my brow ; 
I cherished once a foohsh dream, — 
Thank Heaven 't is not so now. 
Tmth's sunsliine broke, 
And I awoke 
To feel "t was right to bow 
To Fate's decree, and tliis my doom, 
The darkness of a Nameless Tomb. 

I grieve not, tliough a tear may fill 

Tliis glazed and \-acant eye ; 
Old thoughts will rise, do what we will, 
But soon again they die ; 
All idle gush, 
And all is hush, 
The fount is soon run dry : 
And cheerly now I meet my doom, 
The darkness of a Nameless Tomb. 



120 1 AM NOT SAD. 

I am not mad, although I see 
Things of no better mould 
Than I myself am, greedily 
In Fame's bright page enrolled, 
That they may tell 
The story well, 
What shines may not be gold. 
No, no ! content I court my doom, 
The darkness of a Nameless Tomb. 

The luck is theirs, — the loss is mine, 

And yet no loss at all ; 
The mighty ones of eldest time, 
I ask where they did fall ? 
Tell me the one 
Who e'er could shun 
Touch with Oblivion's pall? 
All bear with me an equal doom, 
The darkness of a Nameless Tomb. 

Brave temple and huge pyramid, 

Hill sepulchred by art, 
The barrow acre -vast where hid 

Moulders some Nimrod's heart; 



1 AM NOT SAD. 121 

Each monstrous birth 
Cumbers old earth, 
But acts a voiceless part, 
ResoMng all to mine own doom, 
The darkness of a Nameless Tomb. 

Tradition with her palsied hand, 

And purblind Histor}^ may 
Grope and guess well that in tliis land 
Some great one lived liis day ; 
And what is tliis, 
Bhnd hit or miss, 
But labor tlu'own away, 
For counterparts to mine own doom, 
The darkness of a Nameless Tomb ? 

I do not peak and pine away, 
Lo ! tliis deep bowl I quaff; 
If sigh I do, you still must say 
It sounds more hke a laugh. 
'T is not too late 
To separate 
The good seed from the chaff; 
And scoff at those who scorn my doom, 
The darkness of a Nameless Tomb. 



122 1 AM I^ O T S .V D . 

I spend no sigh, I shed no tear, 

Though hfe's first dream is gone ; 
And its bright picturings now appear 
Cold images of stone ; 
I 've learned to see 
The vanity 
Of lusting to be known, 
And gladly hail my changeless doom. 
The darkness of a Nameless Tomb ! 



THE JOYS OF THE WILDERNESS. 



I HAVE a "wish, and it is this, that in some uncouth 
glen, 

It were my lot to find a spot unknown by selfish men ; 

"Where I might be securely free, like Eremite of old, 

From Worldly guile, from Woman's wile, and Friend- 
ships brief and cold ; 

And where I might, with stern delight, enjoy the 
varied form 

Of Nature's mood, in every rude burst of the tluin- 
dermg storm. 

Then would my life, lacking fierce strife, glide on in 

dreamy gladness, 
Nor would I know the cark and woe wliich come of 

this world's madness ; 
While in a row, like some poor show, its pageantries 

would pass. 
Without a sigh, before mine eye, as shadows o'er a 

glass : 



124 JOYS OF THE WILDERNESS. 

Nonentity tliese shadows be, — and yet, good Lord ! 

how brave 
That knavish rout doth strut and flout, then sluink 

into the grave I 

The Wilderness breathes gentleness ; — these waters 

bubbling free. 
The gallant breeze that stirs the trees, form Heaven's 

own melody ; 
The far-stretched sky, with its bright eye, pours forth 

a tide of love 
On every thing that here doth spring, on all that 

glows above. 
But Hve with man, — his dark heart scan, — its paltry 

selfishness 
Will show to thee, why men like me, love the lone 

Wilderness I 



A SOLEMN CONCEIT. 



Stately trees are growing, 
Lusty winds are blowing, 
And mighty rivers flowing 

On, for ever on. 
As stately forms were growing, 
As lusty spirits blowing, 
And as mighty fancies flowing 

On, for ever on ; — 
But there has been leave-taking, 
SoiTow and heart-breaking, 
And a moan, pale Echo's making. 

For the gone, for ever gone I 

Lovely stars are gleaming, 
Bearded lights are streaming. 
And glorious suns are beaming 

On, for ever on. 
As lovely eyes were gleaming. 
As wondrous lights were sti'eaming 



126 A S O L E M N C O I\' C E i T . 

And as glorious minds were beaming 

On, 'for ever on ; — 
But there has been soul-sundering, 
Wailing, and sad wondering ; 
For graves grow fat with plundering 

The gone, for ever gone ! 

We see great eagles soaring, 
We hear deep oceans roaring, 
And sparkling fountains pouring 

On, for ever on. 
As lofty minds were soaring, 
As sonorous voices roaring. 
And as sparkling wits were pouring 

On, for ever on ; — 
But, pinions have been shedding, 
And voiceless darkness spreading, 
Since a measure Death 's been treading 

O'er the gone, for ever gone ! 

Every thing is sundering, 
Every one is wondering, 
And this huge globe goes thundering, 
On, for ever on. 



A SOLEMN CONCEIT. 127 

But, 'mid tliis weary snnderiiig, 
Heart-breaking, and sad wondering, 
And this huge globe's rude thundering 

On, for ever on, 
I would that I were dreaming 
Where little flowers are gleaming, 
And the long green grass is streaming 

O'er the gone, for ever gone I 



THE EXPATRIATED. 



No bird is singing* 

In cloud or on tree, 
No eye is beaming 

Glad welcome to me ; 
The forest is tuneless ; 

Its brown leaves fast fall — 
Changed and withered, they fleet 

Like hollow friends all. 

No door is thrown open, 

No banquet is spread ; 
No hand smooths the pillow 

For the Wanderers head ; 
But the eye of distrust 

Sternly measures his way, 
And glad are the cold lips 

That wish him — good day ! 

Grood day I — I am grateful 
For such gentle prayer, 



THE EXPATRIATED. 129 

Though scant be the cost 

Of that morsel of au*. 
Will it clothe, will it feed me, 

Or rest my worn frame ? 
Good day I wholesome diet, 

A proud heart to tame. 

KoAv the sun dusks his glories 

Below the blue sea, 
And no star its splendor 

Deems worthy of me ; 
The path I must travel. 

Grows dark as my fate, 
And nature, like man, can 

Wax savage miiate. 

My countiy I my countr}^ I 

Though step-dame thou be, 
Yet my heart, in its anguish. 

Cleaves fondly to thee ; 
Still in fancy it lingers 

By mountain and stream, 
And thy name is the spirit 

That iTiles its wild dream. 
10 



130 THE EXPATRIATED. 

Tliis heart loved thee truly, — 

And, O ! it bled free, 
When it led on to glory 

Thy proud chivalry ; 
And, O ! it gained much from 

Thy prodigal hand, — 
The freedom to break in 

The stranger's cold land ! 



FACTS FROM FAIRYLAND. 



•0 then, 1 see, Queen Mab hath been tvith you'' 
♦— 

WouLDST thou know of me 

Where oitx dwellings be ? 

'T is under tliis hill, 

"Wliere the moonbeam cliill 
Silvers the leaf and brightens the blade, - 

"Tis under this mound 

Of greenest gTound, 
That our ciystal palaces are made. 

Wouldst thou know of me 

"Wliat our food may be ? 

'T is the sweetest breath 

Wliich the bright flower hath. 
That blossoms in wilderness afar, — 

And we sip it up. 

In a harebell cup. 
By the \vinknig Ught of the tweering star. 



132 FACTS FROM FAIRYLAND. 

Wouldst thou know of me 
What our drink may be ? 
'T is the freshest dew, 
And the clearest, too, 
That ever hung on leaf or flower ; 
And merry we skink 
That wholesome drink, 
Thorough the quiet of the midnight hour. 

Wouldst thou know of me, 

What our pastimes be ? 

' T is the hunt and halloo, 

The dim greenwood through ; 
O, bravely we prance it with honnd and horn, 

O'er moor and fell, 

And hollow dell, 
Till the notes of our Woodcraft wake the morn. 

Wouldst thou know of me 
What our garments be ? 
'T is the viewless thread, 
Which the gossamers spread 
As they float in the cool of a summer eve bright. 



FACTS FROM FAIRYLAND. 133 

And the clo^vn of the rose, 
Form doublet and hose 
For our Squhes of Dames on each festal night. 

AYouldst thou know of me 

When our revehies be ? 

'T is in the still night, 

When the moonshine white 
Glitters in gloiy o'er land and sea, 

That, with nimble foot, 

To tabor and flute, 
We whirl with our loves round yon glad old tree . 



CERTAIN PLEASANT VERSES TO THE LADY OF 

MY HEART. 

— ♦— 

The murmur of the merry brook, 

As gushingly and free 
It wimples with its sun-bright look, 

Far down yon sheltered lea, 
Humming to every drowsy flower 

A low, quaint lullaby, 
S2:)eaks to my spirit, at tliis hour, 

Of Love and thee. 

The music of the gay green wood, 

When every leaf and tree 
Is coaxed by winds of gentlest mood. 

To utter harmony ; 
And the small birds that answer make 

To the wind's fitful glee. 
In me most blissful visions wake. 

Of Love and thee. 

The rose perks up its blushing cheek, 
So soon as it can see 



TO THE LADY OF MY HEART, 135 

Along the eastern liills, one streak 

Of the Sun's majesty: 
Laden with dewy gems, it gleams 

A precious freight to me, 
For each pme drop thereon me seems 

A type of thee. 

And when, abroad in summer morn, 

I hear the blythe bold bee 
Winding aloft his tiny horn, 

(An errant knight perdy,) 
That winged hunter of rare sweets 

O'er many a far country, 
To me a lay of love repeats, 

Its subject — thee. 

And when, in midnight hour, I note 

The stars so pensively, 
In their mild beauty, onward float 

Through heaven's own silent sea ; 
My heart is in their voyaging 

To realms where sphits be. 
But its mate, in such wandering, 

Is ever thee I 



136 TO THE LADY OF MY HEART. 

But O, the murmur of the brook, 

The music of the tree ; 
The rose with its sweet shamefast look. 

The booming of the bee ; 
The course of each bright voyager 

In heaven's unmeasured sea, 
Would not one heart-pulse of me stir, 

Loved I not thee I 



EEXEATH A PLACID BROW. 



Beneath a placid broAV. 

And tear-nnstaincd cheek, 
To bear as I do now 

A heart that well conld break ; 
To simnlatc a smile 

Amid the wrecks of grief, — 
To herd among the \ale, 

And therein seek relief, — 
For the bitterness of thought 
Were joyance dearly bought. 

When \\dll man learn to bear 

His heart nailed on his breast, 
With all its lines of care 

In nakedness confessed ? — 
Why, in tliis solemn mask 

Of passion-wasted life, 
Will no one dare the task, 

To speak his soitows rife ? — 
Will no one bravely tell. 
His bosom is a hell ? 



138 BENEATH A P L A C 1 D li R O W . 

I scorn tliis liated scene 

Of masldng and disguise, 
Where men on men still gleam, 

With falseness in their eyes ; 
Wliere all is counterfeit, 

And truth hath never say ; 
Where hearts themselves do cheat, 

Conceahng hope's decay. 
And writhing at the stake. 
Themselves do liars make. 

Go, search thy heart, poor fool ! 

And mark its passions well ; 
'T were time to go to school, — 

'T were time the truth to tell, — 
'T were time this world should cast 

Its infant slough away, 
Aiid hearts burst forth at last 

Lito the Hght of day ; — 
'T were time ail learned tc be 
Fit for Eternity! 



THE COVENANTERS' BATTLE CHANT. 



To BATTLE I to battle I 

To slaughter and strife ! 
For a sad, broken Covenant 

We barter poor life. 
The great God of Judali 

Shall smite with our hand, 
And break down the idols 

Tliat cumber the land. 

UpUft every voice 

Li prayer, and m song; 
Remember the battle 

Is not to the strong ; — 
Lo, the Ammonites thicken I 

And onward they come. 
To the vain noise of trumpet, 

Of cymbal, and di-um. 

They haste to the onslaught, 
With hagbut and spear; 



] 40 THE covenanters' 

They lust for a bancjuct 
That 's deathfiil and dear. 

Now, horseman and footman, 
Sweep down the hill-side : 

They come, like fierce Pharaohs, 
To die in their pride ! 

See, long plume and pennon 

Stream gay in the air ; 
They are given us for slaughter, - 

Shall God's people spare ? 
Nay, nay ; lop them off, — 

Friend, father, and son ; 
All earth is athirst till 

Tlie good work be done. 

Brace tight every buckler, 

Aiid lift liigh the sword ! 
For biting must blades be 

That fight for the Lord. 
Remember, remember, 

How Saints' blood was shed, 
As free as the rain, and 

Homes desolate made I 



BATTLE CHANT. 141 

Among them I — among them ! 

Unbmied bones ciy ; 
Avenge us, — or, like us. 

Faith's true martyrs die. 
Hew, hew down the spoilers ! 

Slay on, and spare none : 
Then shout forth in gladness, 

Heaven's battle is won I 



TIM THE TACKET. 

A Lyrical Ballad, supposed to be written by W. W. 



A BARK is lying on tlie sands, 
No rippling wave is sparkling near her; 
She seems mimanned of all her hands, — 
There 's not a soul on board to steer her ! 

'Tis strange to see a ship- shape thing 
Upon a lonely beach thus lying, 
Wliile mystic winds for ever sing 
Among its shrouds like spirits sighing. 

O, can it be a spectre-ship, 

Forwearied of the storm and ocean, 

That here hath ended its last trip, 

And sought repose from ceaseless motion? 

I deem amiss : for yonder, see, 

A sailor struts in dark-blue jacket, — 

A little man with face of glee, — 

His nei2:hbors call him Tim the Tacket. 



TIM T TT E T A C K E T . 143 

I know him well ; the master he 

Of a small bark, — an Irish coaster ; 

His heart is hke the ocean, free, 

And like the breeze liis tongue 's a boaster. 

He is a father, too, I 'm told, 
Of children ten, and some say tivcnty ; 
But it 's no matter, he 's groAvn old. 
And, ten or more, he has got plenty I 

List ! now he sings a bm'ly stave 

Of waves and winds and shipwrecks many, 

Of flying fish and dolpliins brave, 

Of mermaids lovely but uncanny. 

Right oft, I ween, he joys to speak 

Of slim maids in the green waves dancing, 

Or singing in some lonesome creek. 

While kembing locks like sunbeams glancing. 

O, he hath tales of wondrous things 
Spied in the vast and gousty ocean ; 
Of monstrous fish, whose giant springs 
Give to the seas their rocking motion; 



144 TIM THE TACKET. 

And serpents huge whose rings embrace 
Some round leagues of the great Pacific ; 
And men of central Ind, sans face, 
But not on that head less terrific I 

Lo I he liath lit a brown cigar, 
A special, smooth-skinned, real Havannah ; 
And swirling smoke he pufis afar, — 
'T is sweet to him as desert maima I 

Away, away the reek doth go, 
In Aviry thread or heavy volume ; 
Now black, now blue, gold, gray, or snow 
In color, and in height a column I 

His little eyes, deep-set, and hedged 
All round and round with bristles hoary, 
Do twinkle like a hawk's ncAV-fledged, — 
Sure he hath dreams of marvellous glory ! 

Well, I would rather be that wight. 
Contented, puffing, midst his tackling, 
Than star-gemmed lord or gartered knight, 
111 masquerade or senate cackling. 



TIM THE T A C K E T . 145 

He Sims Ms limbs upon the deck, 
He hears the music of the ocean ; 
He hves not on another's beck, 
He pines not after court promotion. 

He is unto himself, — he is 
A little world mthin another ; 
And furthermore he knoweth this. 
That all mankind to liim is brother. 

He smgs his songs, and smokes his weed. 
He spins his yarn of monstrous fables, 
He cracks his biscuit, and at need 
Can soundly sleep on coiled-up cables. 

Although the sea be sometimes rough, 
His bark is stout, its rudder steady, 
At other whiles 't is calm enough, 
And buxom as a gentle lady. 

In sooth, too, 't is a pleasant thing. 
To sail, and feel the sea-breeze blowing 
About one's cheek, — O ! such doth bring 
Full many a free-born thought and glowing. 
11 



146 TIM THE T A C K E T . 

For who upon the deep, deep sea, 

Ere dwelt and saw its great breast heaving, 

But, by a kindred sympathy. 

Felt his own heart its trammels leaving ? 

The wide and wild, the strange and grand, 
Commingle with his inmost spirit ; 
He feels a riddance from the land, — 
A boundlessness he may inherit. 

Good night, thou happy, ancient man ! 
Farewell, thou mariner so jolly ! 
I pledge thee in this social can, 
Thou antipode of melancholy ! 



THE WITCHES' JOYS. 



When niglit winds rave 
O'er tlie fresh scooped grave, 
And tlie dead therein that he, 
Glare upward to the sky ; 
Wlien gibbering imps sit down, 
To feast on lord or clown. 
And tear the slnoud away 
From their lithe and palhd prey ; 
Then clustering close, how grim 
They munch each withered hmb ! 
Or quarrel for dainty rare. 
The hp of lady fair, — 
The tongue of liigh-born dame, 
That never would defame, 
And was of scandal free 
As any mute could be ! 
Or suck the tintless cheek 
Of maiden mild and meek ; 



148 THE witches' joys. 

And when in revel rout 
They kick peeled skulls about, 
And shout in maddest mirth, — 
These dull toys awed the earth ! 

O then, O then, O then, 

We hurry forth amain ; 
For with such eldritch cries, 
Begin our revehies ! 

II. 

When the murderer's blanched corse 
Swings wdth a sighing hoarse 
From gibbet and from chain, 
As the bat sucks out his brain, 
Ajid the owlet pecks his eyes. 
Arid the wild fox gnaws his thighs ; 
While the raven croaks with glee, 
Lord of the dead man's tree ; 
And rocked on that green skull, 
With sated look and dull, 
In gloomy pride looks o'er 
The waste and wildered moor, 
And dreams some other day 
Shall bring him fresher prey ; 



THE witches' joys. 149 

Wlien over bog and fen, 
To kite wayfaring men, 
Malicious spirits trail 
A ground fii-e tliin and pale, 
"VVliicli the belated wiglit 
Pursues tlie live-long niglit, 
Till in tlie treacherous ground 
An unmade grave is found, — 

O then, O then, O then. 

We huny forth amain, 
Ha ! ha I his feeble cries 
Begin our revehies. 

III. 
When the spuits of the North 
Hurl howhng tempests forth ; 
Wlien seas of Hghtnuig flare. 
And thunders choke the air ; 
When the ocean starts to hfe, 
To madness, horror, strife, 
And the goodly bark breaks up, 
Like ungu'ded drmking cup, 
And each stately mast is split 
In some rude thunder-fit ; 



150 THE witches' joys. 

And, like feather on the foam, 

Float shattered plank and boom ; 

Wlien, midst the tempest's roar, 

Pale listeners on the shore 

Hear the curse and slniek of men, 

As they sink and rise again 

On the gnrly billow's back, 

And their strong broad breast-bones crack 

On the hon-ribbed coast. 

As back to hell they 're tossed, — 

O then, O then, O then, 

We hurry forth again I 
For amid such lusty cries, 
Begin our revehies. 

IV. 

When aged parents flee 
The noble wreck to see, 
And mark their sons roll in 
Tlirough foam and thundering din, 
All mottled black and blue, — 
Their veiy lips cut through 
In the agony of death, 
Wliile drifting on their path ; 



THE witches' joys. 151 

Wlien gentle maidens stand 
Upon the wi*eck-ricli strand, 
And eveiy laboring wave 
That doth then small feet lave, 
Gives them a ghastly lover 
To \viing then w^liite hands over. 
And tear their spray -wet hair 
111 the madness of despair ; 

O then, O then, O then, 

We huny home amain ; 
For theh heart-piercing cries, 
Shame our wild revehies ! 



A SABBATH SUMMER NOON. 



The calmness of this noontide hour, 

The shadow of this wood, 
The fragrance of each wilding flower, 

Are marvellously good ; 
O, here crazed spirits breathe the balm 

Of nature's solitude ! 

It is a most delicious calm 
That resteth eveiywhere, — 

The holiness of soul-sung psalm, 
Of felt but voiceless prayer ! 

With hearts too full to speak then bliss, 
God's creatures silent are. 

They silent are ; but not the less, 

Li this most tranquil hour 
Of deep unbroken dreaminess, 

They own that Love and Power 
Which, like the softest sunshine, rests 

On every leaf and flower. 



A SABBATH SUMMER NOON. 1 53 

IIow silent are the song-fillecl nests 

That crowd tliis ch-owsy tree, — 
How mute is every feathered breast 

Tliat swelled with melody I 
And yet bright bead-lil^e eyes declare 

Tliis hour is ecstasy. 

Heart forth ! as uncaged bird tln-ough air, 

Aiid mingle in the tide 
Of blessed tilings, that, lacldng care, 

Now full of beauty ghde 
Ai'ound thee, in then- angel hues 

Of joy and sinless pride. 

Here, on tliis green bank that o'er-views 

The far retreating glen. 
Beneath the spreading beech-tree muse, 

On all witliin thy ken ; 
For lovelier scene shall never break 

On thy dimmed sight again. 

Slow steahng from the tangled brake 

Tliat skirts the distant hill, 
With noiseless hoof two bright fawns make 



154 A SABBATH SUMMER NOON. 

For yonder lapsing rill ; 
IMeek cliilcli-en of the forest gloom, 
Drink on, and fear no ill I 

And buried in the yellow broom 

That crowns the neighboring height, 

Couches a loutish shepherd groom. 
With all his flocks in sight ; 

Which dot the green braes gloriously. 
With spots of living light. 

It is a sight that filleth me 

With meditative joy. 
To mark these dumb things curiously, 

Crowd round their guardian boy ; 
As if they felt this Sabbath hour 

Of bhss lacked all alloy. 

I bend me towards the tiny flower, 
That underneath tliis tree 

Opens its Httle breast of sweets 
In meekest modesty. 

And breathes the eloquence of love 
In muteness, Lord I to thee. 



A SABBATH SUMMER NOON. 155 

There is no breath of wind to move 
The flag-hke leaves, that spread 

Theh grateful shadow far above 
Tliis turf-supported head ; 

AU sounds are gone, — aU mmiTumngs 
With hving nature wed. 

The babbhng of the clear weU-springs, 

The wliisperings of the trees, 
And aU the cheerful jargomngs 

Of feathered hearts at ease ; 
That wliilome filled the vocal wood, 

Have hushed their minstrelsies. 

The silentness of night doth brood 

O'er tills bright summer noon ; 
And nature, in her hoHest mood, 

Doth aU tilings well attune 
To joy, m the religious dreams 

Of green and leafy June. 

Far down the glen in distance gleams 

The hamlet's tapering spire, 
And, glittering in meridial beams, 



156 A SABBATH SUMMER NOON. 

Its vane is tonguecl with fire ; 
And hark how sweet its silveiy bell, — 
And hark the rustic choir ! 

The holy sounds float up the dell 

To fill my ravished ear, 
Aiid now the glorious anthems swell 

Of worshippers sincere, — 
Of hearts bowed in the dust, that shed 

Faith's penitential tear. 

Dear Lord I thy shadow is forth spread 
On all mine eye can see ; 

And filled at the pure fountain-head 
Of deepest piety, 

My heart loves all created things, 
And travels home to thee. 

Ai'ound me while the sunshine fhngs 

A flood of mocky gold. 
My chastened sphit once more sings. 

As it was wont of old. 
That lay of gratitude which burst 

From young heart uncontrolled. 



A SABEATH SUMMER NOON. 157 

Wlien ill the midst of nature nursed, 

Sweet influences fell 
On cliidly hearts that were athii'st, 

Like soft dews in the bell 
Of tender flowers, that bowed their heads, 

And breathed a fresher smell. 

So, even now tliis hour hath sped 

In rapturous thought o'er me. 
Feehng myself with nature wed, — 

A holy mystery, — 
A part of earth, a part of heaven, 

A part, gi-eat God ! of Thee. 

Fast fade the cares of hfe's dull sweven. 

They perish as the weed. 
While unto me the power is given, 

A moral deep to read 
In every silent throe of mind 

External beauties breed. 



A MONODY. 

I. 
Hour after hour 

Day after day, 
Some gentle flower 

Or leaf gives way 
Within the bower 

Of human hearts; 
Tear after tear 

In anguish starts, 
For, green or sere, 

Some loved leaf parts 
From the arbere 

Of human hearts ; — 
The keen winds blow; 
Rain, hail, and snow 

Fall vJiro :j^vi^iere ! 
And one by one, 
As life's sands run, 

These loved things fare. 
Till plundered hearts at last are won 

To woo despah. 



A MONODY. 
II. 

Wliy linger on, 

Fate's mockeiy liere, 
"W^ien each is gone, 

Heart-loved, heart-dear ? 
Stone spells to stone 

Its weary tale. 
How graves were filled, 

How cheeks waxed pale, 
How hearts were cliilled 

With biting gale. 
And hfe's stiings thrilled 

With sorrow's wail. 
Flower follov/s flower 
In the heart's bower, 

To fleet away ; 
Wliile leaf on leaf, 
Sharp giief on giief, — 

Night V...... J:-^ day, 

Tell as they fall, all joy is brief, 

Life but decay. 

III. 
The sea-weed thrown 
By wave or wind, 



159 



160 A M O N O D Y . 

On strand unknown, 

Lone grave to find ; 
Methinks may own, 

Of kindred more 
Than I dare claim 

On life' s bleak shore. 
Name follows name 

For evermore, 
As swift waves shame 

Slow waves before ; - 
For keen winds blow ; 
Rain, hail, and snow 

Fall everywhere, 
Till life's sad tree. 
In mockery, 

Skeletoned bare 
Of every leaf, is left to be 

Mate of despair. 

IV. 

The world is wide. 
Is rich and fair. 
Its things of pride 
Flaunt everywhere ; 



A M O N O D Y . ] G I 

But can it liide 

Its hoUowness ? 
One miglity slicll 

Of bitterness, 
One gi-and farewell 

To happiness, 
One solenm knell 

To love's caress, 
It seems to me. 
The shipless sea 

Hath braveiy more 
Than this waste scene, 
Where what hath been 

Beloved of yore, 
Li the heart's bower so fresh and green, 

Fades evermore I 

V. 

From all its kind, 

Tliis wasted heart — 
Tliis moody mind 

Now drifts apart I 
It longs to find 

The tideless shore, 
12 



1 62 A M O N O D Y . 

Where rests the wi-eck 

Of Heretofore, — 
The glorious wreck 

Of mental ore ; 
The great heartbreak 

Of loves no more. 
I drift alone, 
For all are gone 

Dearest to me; 
And hail the wave 
That to the grave 

On hnrrieth me : 
Welcome^ tluico welcome, then, thy wave, 

Eternity I 



THEY COME! THE MERRY SUMMER MONTHS. 



TiiEY come I the meny summer moutlis of Beauiy, 

Song, and Flowers ; 
I'liey come ; the gladsome months that brmg tliick 

leafiness to bowers. 
Up, up, my heart I and walk abroad, fhng cark and 

care aside, 
Seek silent liills, or rest thyself where peaceful waters 

ghde ; 
Or, underneath the shadow vast of patriarchal tree, v 
Scan through its leaves the cloudless sky m rapt 

tranquilhty. 

The grass is soft, its velvet touch is gratefid to the hand, 
And, like the kiss of maiden love, the breeze is sweet 

and bland ; 
The daisy and the buttercup are nodding couileously. 
It sths their blood, with Idndest love, to bless and 

welcome thee : 
And mark how with thine own thin locks, — they 

now are silvery gray, — 
That bhssful breeze is wantoning, and wliisperuig 

'Be gay!' 



1 64 THEY C O M E I 

There is no cloud that sails along the ocean of yon 
sky, 

But hath its own winged mariners to give it melody : 

Thou see'st their glittering fans outspread all gleam- 
ing like red gold, 

And hark I with shrill pipe musical, their merry 
course they hold. 

God bless them all, these little ones, who far above 
this earth, 

Can make a scoff of its mean joys, and vent a nobler 
mirtlL 

But soft I mine ear upcaught a sound, from yonder 

wood it came ! 
The spirit of the dim green glade did breathe liis 

own glad name ; — 
Yes, it is he ! the hermit bird, that apart from all liis 

kind. 
Slow spells his beads monotonous to the soft western 

wind ; 
Cuckoo! Cuckoo I he sings again, — his notes are 

void of art, J 

But simplest strains do soonest sound the deep founts 

of the heart I 



THE MERRY SUMMER MONTHS. IGJ 

Good Lord I it is a gracious boon for tliouglit-crazed 

wight like me, 
To smell again tliese summer flowers beneath this 

summer tree ! 
To suck once more in every breath their Httle souls 

away, 
And feed my fancy with fond dreams of youth's bright 

summer day, 
Wlien, rushing forth hke untamed colt, the recldess 

ti'uant boy, 
Wandered tlnough green woods all day long, a mighty 

heart of joy ! 

I 'm sadder now, I have had cause ; but 01 I 'm 

proud to think 
That each pure joy-fount loved of 3'Ore, I yet dehght 

to drink ; — 
Leaf, blossom, blade, hill, valley, stream, the calm 

unclouded sky, 
Still mingle music with my dreams, as in the days 

gone by. 
When summer's lovehness and hght fall round me 

dark and cold, 
I '11 bear indeed life's heaviest curse, — a heart that 

hath waxed old I 



CHANGE SWEEPETH OVER ALL. 

Change sweepeth over all I 

111 showers leaves fall 
From the tall forest tree ; 

On to the sea 
Majestic rivers roll. 
It is their goal. 
Each speeds to perish in man's simple seeming, — 

Each disappears : 
One common end o'ertakes life's idle dreaming, 
Dnst, darkness, tears 1 



Day hurries to its close : 

The sun that rose 
A miracle of light, 

Yieldeth to night ; 
The skirt of one vast pall 

O'ershadows all, 
Yon fiimamental cresset lights forth shining, 

Heaven's highest born ! 
Droop on their thrones, and, like pale spirits pining, 

Vanish with morn. 



(' IT A N G E S W E E F E T II O \' E R ALL. 1 G7 

O'er cities of old days, 

Dumb creatures gi-aze ; 
Palace and pyramid 

111 dust are hid ; 
Yea, the sky-searcliing tower 

Stands but its hour. 
Oceans theh A\^de-stretched beds are ever shifting, 

Sea turns to shore, 
And stars and systems through dread space are drifting, 

To sliine no morC: 

Names perish that erst smote 

Nations remote. 
With panic, fear, or wrong ; 

Heroic song 
Grapples with time in vam ; 

On to the main 
Of dim forgetfulness for ever rolling, 

Earth's bubbles burst ; 
Time o'er the wreck of ages sternly tolling 

The last accursed. 

Tlie world is waxing old. 
Heaven dull and cold ; 



168 CHANGE SWEEPETH OVER ALL. 

Nought lacketli here a close 

Save human woes. 
Yet they too have an end, — 
Death is man's friend: 
Doomed for a while, his heart must go on breaking 

Day after day, 
But light, love, life, — all, — all at last forsaking, 
Clay claspeth clay I 



SONGS 



SONGS 



O, WAE BE TO THE ORDERS. 
— ♦ — • 

O WAE be to the orders that marched my hive awa', 
And wae he to the cmel cause that gars my tears 

douii fa', 
O wae be to the bhiidy Avars iii Hie Germanie, 
For they hae ta'en my hive, and left a broken heart 

to me. 

Th(3 drams beat in the momin' afore the scriech o' day, 
And the wee wee fifes piped loud and shrill, while yet 

the mom was gray ; 
The boniiie flags were a' imfmicd, a gallant sight to 

see. 
But wacs me for my sodger lad that marched to 

Gemianie. 

O, lang, lang is the travel to the bonnie Pier o' Leith, 
O dreicli it is to gang on foot wi' the snaw- drift in 
the teeth I 



1 72 O, W A E BE TO THE ORDERS. 



And O, tlic cauld wind froze the tear that gathered in 

my e'e, 
Wlien I gade there to see my hive embark for Ger- 



J looked ower the braid bhie sea, sae long as could be 

seen 
Ae wee bit sail upon the ship that my sodger lad was in ; 
But the wind w^as blawin* sah and snell, and the ship 

sailed speedilie, 
Aud the waves and cruel wars hae twinned my ^vin- 

some luve frae me. 

r never tliink o' dancin, and I downa try to sing, 
But a' the day I spier what news Idnd neibour bodies 

bring; 
I sometimes knit a stocking, if knittin' it may be, 
Sjiie for every loop that I cast on, I am sure to let 

doun tluree. 

My father says I 'm in a pet, my mither jeers at me, 
And bans me for a dautit wean, in dorts for aye to be ; 
But little weet they o' the cause that drumles sae my e'e : 
O they hae nae winsome luve like mine in the Avars 
o' Germanic I 



WEARIE'S WELL. 



In a saft simmer gloamiii', 

Li yon dowie dell, 
It was there we twa first met 

By Wearie's caiild well. 
We sat on the bmme bank 

And looked in the burn, 
But sidelang we looked on 

Illi ither in turn. 

The corn-craik was cliinning 

His sad eerie cry. 
And the wee stars were di'eaming 

Then* path tln-ough the sky; 
The burn babbled freely 

Its love to ilk flower. 
But we heard and we saw nought 

In that blessed hour. 

We heard and wc saw nought 
Above or around; 



174 W E A R. I E ' S WELL. 

We felt that our love lived, 
Aiid loathed idle sound. 

I gazed on your sweet face 
Till tears filled my e'e, 

Ana they drapt on your wee loof, 
A warld's wealth to me. 

Now the winter's snaw 's fa'ing 

On bare holm and lea ; 
And the cauld Avind is strippin' 

Ilk leaf aff the tree. 
But the snaw fa's not faster, 

Nor leaf disna part 
Sae sune frae the bough, as 

Faith fades in your heart. 

Ye 've waled out anither 

Your bridegroom to be ; 
But can his heart luve sac 

As mine luvit thee ? 
Ye '11 get biggings and mailins, 

And monie braw claes ; 
But they a' Avinna buy back 

The peace o' past days. 



W E A 11 I E S WELL. 

Fareweel, and for ever, 

My first luvc and last, 
May thy joys be to come, — 

Mine live in the past 
Li son-ow and sadness, 

Tliis hour fa's on me ; 
But hght, as thy luve, may 

It fleet over Ihee I 



175 



SONG OF THE DANISH SEA-KING. 



Our bark is on the waters deep, our briglit blade 's 

in our hand, 
Our birthright is the ocean vast, — we scorn the 

girdled land ; 
And the hollow wind is our music brave, and none 

can bolder be 
Than the hoarse-tongued tempest raving o'er a proud 

and swelling sea I 

Our bark is dancing on the waves, its tall masts quiv- 
ering bend 

IJefore the gale, wliich hails us uow Avitli the hollo of 
a friend ; 

And its prow is sheering merrily the ui)curled billow's 
foam. 

While our hearts, with throbbing gladness, cheer old 
Ocean as our home I 

Our eagle-wings of might we stretch before the gal- 
lant wind, 

And we leave the tame and sluggish earth a dim mean 
speck beliind ; 



SONG OF THE DANISH SEA-KING. 177 

We shoot into tlic iintrackcd deep, as eartli-freed 

sj^irits soar, 
Like stars of fire tlirough boundless space, — tlu-oiigh 

realms without a shore ! 

Lords of tliis wide-spread wilderness of waters, we 

bound free, 
The haughty elements alone dispute our sovereignty ; 
No landmark doth our freedom let, for no law of man 

can mete 
The vsky wliich arches o'er our head, — the waves 

wliich kiss our feet I 

The wanior of the land may back the wild horse, in 
his pride ; 

But a fiercer steed we dauntless breast, — the un- 
tamed ocean tide ; 

And a nobler tilt our bark careers, as it quells the 
saucy wave, 

Wliile the Herald storm peals o'er the deep the 
glories of the brave. 

Hurrah I huiTahl the wind is up, — it bio weth fresh 

and free, 
And eveiy cord instinct with life, pipes loud its fear- 
less glee ; 

13 



178 SONG OF THE DANISH SEA-KING. 

Big swell tlie bosomed sails with joy, and tliey madly 

kiss the spray, 
As proudly, through the foaming surge, the Sea- King 

bears away ! ' 



THE CAVALIER'S SONG. 



A STEED ! a steed of matclilesse speed, 

A sword of metal keene I 
All else to noble lieartes is drosse, 

All else on earth is meane. 
The neighyinge of the war-horse prowde, 

The rowlinge of the di'um, 
The clangor of the trumpet lowde, 

Be soundes from heaven that come ; 
And OI the thundering presse of knightes 

Whenas their war cryes swell, 
May tole from heaven an angel bright, 

And rouse a fiend from hell. 

Then mounte I then mounte, brave gallants, all, 

And don your helmes amaine : 
Deathe's couriers, Fame and Honor, call 

Us to the field againe. 
No shrewish teares shall fill our eye 

When the sword-hilt 's in our hand, — 
Heart whole we '11 part, and no whit sighe 

For the fayrest of the land ; 



180 THE cavalier's song. 

Let piping swaine, and craven wight, 
Thus weepe and puHng ciye, 

Our business is hke men to fight, 
And hero -Hke to die ! 



THE MERRY GALLANT 



The Meny Gallant girds his sword, 

And dons liis helm in niickle fflee ; 
He leaves behind liis lady love 
For tented fields and deeds wliicli prove 
Stout hardiment and constancy. 

Wlien round liim rings the din of arms, — 

The notes of liigh-boni cliivalry. 
He tliinlvs not of liis bird in bower, 
And scorns to own Love's tj^rant power 
Amid the combats of the Free. 

Yet in the midnight watch, I trow, 

Wlien cresset hghts all feebly bum. 
Will hermit Fancy sometimes roam 
With eager travel back to home, 

Wliere smiles and tears await — return. 



182 THE MERRY GALLANT. 

' Away I away !' he boldly sings, 

' Be thrown those thoughts which cling to me ; 
That mournful look and glistering eye, — 
That quivering lip and broken sigh ; — 
Why fill each slnrine of memoiy ? 

* O, that to-morrow's dawn would rise 
To light me on my path of gloiy, 
Where I may pluck from niggard fame 
Her bravest laurels, — and the name 
That long shall live in minstrel story I 

' Then, when my thirst for fame is dead, 
Soft love m.ay claim his wonted due ; 
But noAV when levelled lances gleam, 
And chargers snort, and banners stream, 
To lady's love a long adieu I' 



THE KNIGHT'S SONG. 



Endearing I endearing I 

AVhy so endeaiing 
Ai*e those dark lustrous eyes, 

Tlu-ougli their silk fringes peering ? 
They love me ! they love me ; 

Deeply, sincerely ; 
And more than aught else on earth, 

I love them dearly. 

Endearmg I endearing ! 

Why so endearing 
Glows the glad sunny smile 

On thy soft cheek appearing? 
It brightens I it brightens ! 

As I am nearing ; 
And 't is thus that thy fond smile 

Is ever endearing. 

Endearing I endearing I 
Why so endearing 



184 THE knight's g o n g . 

Is tliat lute breatliiiig voice 

Which my rapt soul is hearing ? 

*T is singing, 't is singing 
Thy deep love for me, 

And my faithful heart echoes 
Devotion to thee. 

Endearing ! endearing I 

Why so endearing, 
At each Passage of Arms 

Is the herald's bold cheering ? 
'T is then thou art ImeeHng 

With pure hands to heaven, 
And each prayer of thy heart 

For my good lance is given. 

Endearing ! endearing ! 

Why so endearing 
Is the fillet of silk 

That my right arm is wearing ? 
Once it veiled the bright bosom 

That beats but for me ; 
Now it cu'cles the arm that 

Wins glory for thee ! 



THE TROOPER'S DITTY. 



Boot, boot into the stiniip, lads, 

And hand once more on rem ; 
Up, up into the saddle, lads, 

A-field we ride agam : 
One cheer, one cheer for dame or dear, 

No leisure now to sigh, 
God bless them all, — we have then* prayers, 

And they our hearts, — ' Good-bye I ' 
OfT, oiFwe ride, in reckless pride, 

As gallant troopers may, 
Wlio have old scores to settle, and 

Long slashing swords to pay. 

The trumpet calls, — * trot out, trot out,' — 

We cheer the stirrmg sound ; 
Swords forth, my lads, — tlnough smoke and 
dust 

We thunder o'er the gi'ound. 
Ti-amp, ti-amp, we go tlu'ough sulphmy clouds, 

That bhnd us wliile we sing, — 



186 THE trooper's ditty. 

Woe worth the knave who follows not 

The banner of the ICing ; 
But luck befall each trooper tall, 

That cleaves to saddle-tree, 
Whose long sword carves on rebel sconce. 

The rights of Majesty. 

Spur on, my lads ; the trumpet sounds 

Its last and stern command, — 
* A charge ! a charge ! ' — an ocean burst 

Upon a stormy strand. 
Ha ! ha ! how thickly on our casques 

Their pop-guns rattle shot ; 
Spur on, my lads, we'll give it them 

As sharply as we 've got. 
Now for it : — now, bend to the work, — 

Their lines begin to shake ; 
Now, through and through them, — bloody lanes 

Our flashmg sabres make ! 

' Cut one, — cut two, — first point,' and then 

We '11 pariy as we may ; 
On, on the knaves, and give them steel 

In bellyfuls to-day. 



THE trooper's DITTY. 187 

Hurrah ! hiiiTah ! for Cliurcli and State, 

For Country and for Crown, 
We slash away, and right and left 

Hew rogues and rebels down. 
Another cheer I the field is clear, 

The day is all our own ; 
Done like our sires, — done hke the swords 

God gives to guard the Throne ! 



HE IS GONE! HE IS GONE! 



He is gone ! he is gone ! 

Like the leaf from the tree ; 
Or the down that is blown 

By the wind o'er the lea. 
He is fled, the light-hearted I 
Yet a tear must have started 
To liis eye, when he parted 

From love -stricken me I 

He is fled : he is fled I 

Like a gallant so free, 
Phmied cap on his head, 

And sharp sword by his knee ; 
Wliile his gay feathers fluttered, 
Surely something he muttered, 
He at least must have uttered 

A farewell to me ! 

He 's away ! he 's aAvay 
To far lands o'er the sea, — 



HE IS G O N E I HE IS C! O N E ! 180 

And long is the day 

Ere home he can be ; 
But where'er liis steed prances, 
Ainid tln'ongmg lances, 
Sure he '11 tliink of the glances 

That love stole from mc I 

He is gone I he is gone ! 

Like the leaf from the tree ; 
But his heart is of stone 

If it ne'er dream of me I 
For I dream of liim ever : 
His buff-coat and beaver, 
And long sword, O, never 

Ai-e absent from me ! 



THE FORESTER'S CAROL. 



Lusty Hearts ! to the wood, to tlie merry gi*eeii wood. 
While the dew Avith strung pearls loads each blade, 

Aiid the fu'st blush of dawn brightly streams o'er the 
la\vn, 
Like the smile of a rosy-cheeked maid. 

Our horns with wild music ring glad through each 
shaw, 
And our broad arrows rattle amain ; 
For the stout bows we draw, to the green woods give 
law, 
And the Might is the Pdght once again ! 

Mark yon herds, as they brattle and brush do^vn the 
glade ; 

Pick the fat, let the lean rascals go, 
Under favor 't is meet that we tall men should eat, — 

Nock a shaft and strike down that proud doe ! 



THE forester's CAROL. 191 

"Well delivered, parfay ! convulsive she lenps, — 
One lionnd more, — then she drops on her side ; 

Our steel hath hit smart the hfe-strings of her heart, 
And cold now Hes the green forest's pride. 

Heave her up, and away I — should any hase churl 
Dare to ask why we range in this wood, 

There 's a keen arrow 3^arc, in each broad belt to 
spare, 
Tliat will answer the knave in liis blood I 

Tlien forward, my Hearts ! lilvc the bold reckless 
breeze 

Oiu: hfe shall wliiii on in mad glee ; 
The long bows we bend, to the world's latter end, 

Shall be borne by the hands of the Free I 



MAY MORN SONG. 



The grass is wet with sliining dews, 

Tlieir silver bells liang on each tree, 
Wliile opening flower and bursting bud 

Breathe incense forth unceasingly ; 
The mavis pipes in gi-eenwood shaw, 

The tlu'ostle glads the spreading thorn, 
And cheerily the blythesome lark 
Salutes the rosy face of mom. 
'T is early prime; 

And hark ! hark ! hark I 
His meny chime 
Chirrups the lark : 
Chirrup ! chirrup ! he heralds in 
The jolly sun with matin hymn. 

Come, come, my love I and May-dews shake 
In pailfuls from each drooping bough ; 

They '11 give fresh lustre to the bloom, 
That breaks upon thy young cheek now. 



MAY MORN SONG. 193 

O'er hill and dale, o'er waste and wood 

Ainora's smiles are streaming free ; 
With earth it seems brave holyday, 
Li heaven it looks high jubilee. 
And it is right, 

For mark, love, mark ! 
How bathed in hglit 
Chirrups the lark : 
ChiiTup I chirrup I he upward flics. 
Like holy thoughts to cloudless skies. 

They lack all heart, who cannot feel 

The voice of heaven within them tlnill. 

In summer morn, when mounting high 

This meny minstrel sings his fill. 

Now let us seek yon bosky dell 

Wliere brightest wild-flowers choose to be. 

And where its clear stream murmurs on. 

Meet type of our love's purity ; 

No witness there, 

And o'er us hark ! 

High in the air 

CliiiTups the lark : 

Chirrup ! clnrrup ! away soars he, 

Bearing to heaven my vows to theo ! 
14 



THE BLOOM HATH FLED THY CHEEK, MARY. 



The bloom hatli fled thy cheek, Mary, 
As spiing's rath blossoms die, 

And sadness hath o'ershadowed now 
Thy once bright eye ; 

But, look on me, the prints of grief 
Still deeper lie. 
Farewell ! 

Thy lips are pale and mute, Mary, 

Thy step is sad and slow, 
The morn of gladness hath gone by 

Thoii erst did Imow ; 
I, too, am changed like thee, and weep 

For very woe. 

Farewell ! 

It seems as 't were but yesterday 
We were the happiest twain, 



THE BLOOM II A T II FLED. 195 

Wlien murmured sighs and joyous tears, 

Dropping like rain, 
Discoiu'sed my love, and told how loved 

I was again. 

Fai-ewell ! 

'T was not in cold and measured phrase 

We gave our passion name ; 
Scorning such tedious eloquence, 

Our heart's fond flame 
And long imprisoned feeluigs fast 

In deep sobs came. 
Farewell I 

Would that our love had l3een the love 

That merest woiidhngs know, 
When passion's di-aught to our doomed lips 

Turns utter woe, 
And our poor di-eam of happmess 

Vanishes so I 

Farewell ! 

But in the wreck of aU our hopes, 
There 's yet some touch of bhss, 



196 THE BLOOM II A T II FLED. 

Since fate robs not our wretcliedness 

Of tliis last Idss : 
Despaii*, and love, and madness, meet 

In this, in this. 

Farewell ! 



IN THE QUIET AND SOLEMN NIGHT. 



In the quiet and solemn night, 
"When the moon is silveiy bright, 
Then the screech-owrs eerie cry- 
Mocks the beauties of the sky : 

Tu wliit, tu whoo, 

Its wild halloo 
Doth read a di-owsy homily. 

From yon old castle's cliimneys tall, 
The bat on leathern sail doth fall 
In wanton-mse to sldm the earth, 
And flout the mouse that gave it bhth. 

Tu wliit, tu whoo, 

That wild halloo 
Hath marred the little monster's mirth. 

Fond lovers seek the dewy vale. 
That swimmeth in the moonsliine pale 



198 NIGHT. 

But maicls I beware, when in your car 
The screech-owl screams so loud and clear 

Tu whit, til whoo, 

Its Avild halloo 
Doth speak of danger liirldng near. 

It bids beware of murmured sigh, 
Of air-spun oath and wistful eye ; 
Of star that winks to conscious flower 
Tln-oiigh the roof of leaf-clad bower : 

Tu whit, tu whoo, 

That wild haUoo 
Bids startled vhtue own its power ! 



THE VOICE OF LOVE. 



When shaclo\vs o'er the landscape creep, 
And twinkling stars pale vigils keep ; 
"Wlien flower-cups all with dewdrops gleam, 
And moonshine floweth like a stream ; 

Then is the honr 
Tliat hearts which love no longer di*eam, — 

Then is the hour 
That the voice of love is a spell of power ! 

Wlien shamefaced moonbeams kiss the lake, 
And amorous leaves sweet music wake ; 
Wlien slumber steals o'er eveiy eye, 
And Dian's self shines drowsily; 

Then is the hour 
That hearts wliich love with rapture sigh, — 

Then is the hour 
Tliat the voice of love is a spell of power I 

Wlien surly mastiffs stint their howl. 
And swathed in moonshine nods the owl ; 



200 THE VOICE OF LOVE. 

When cottage -hearths are gUmmeriug low, 
And warder cocks forget to crow; 

Then is the hour 
That hearts feel passion's overflow, — 

Then is the hour 
That the voice of love is a spell of power ! 

When stilly night seems earth's vast grave. 
Nor murmur comes from wood or wave ; 
When land and sea, m wedlock bound 
By silence, sleep in bliss profound ; 

Then is the hour 
That hearts like living well-springs sound, — 

Then is the hour 
That the voice of love is a spell of power I 



AWAY! AWAY! O, DO NOT SAY. 



Away I away I O, do not say 

He can prove false to me : 
Let me believe but tliis brief day 

In liis fidelity ; 
Tell me, that rivers backward flow, 
That unsunned snows like fii-e-brands glow, 

I may believe that lay, 
But never can believe that he 

Is false and fled away. 

lU acted part I ill acted part ! 

I knew liis noble mmd, 
He could not break a trustmg heart, 

Nor leave liis love beliind ; 
Tell mc yon sun will cease to rise. 
Or stars at night to gem the skies, 

I may beheve such lay ; 
But never can beheve that he 

Is false and fled away. 



202 away: away! o , do n o t s a y . 

Can it be so ? O, surely no ! 

Mnst I perforce believe 
That lie I loved and trusted so, 

Avowed only to deceive ? 
Heap coals of foe on tliis lone bead, 
Or in pure pity strike me dead, — 

'T were Idndness, on the day 
That tells me one I loved so well, 

Is false, — is fled away ! 



O, AGONY! KEEN AGONY. 



O, AGONY ! keen agony, 

For trusting heart, to find 

That vows beheved, were vows conceived 

As Hght as summer "wind. 

O, agony I fierce agony, 

For lovuig heart to brook, 

In one brief horn* the withering power 

Of unmipassioned look. 

O, agony ! deep agony, 
For heart that 's proud and high, 
To learn of fate how desolate 
It may be ere it die. 

O, agony ! shai-p agony, 

To find how loth to part 

With the fickleness and faithlessness 

That break a trustins: heat ! 



THE SERENADE. 



Wake, lady, wake I 

Dear heart, awake 

From skimbers light ; 
For 'neath thy bower, at tliis still hour, 

111 harness bright, 
Lingers thine own true paramour, 

And chosen knight ! 

"Wake, lady, wake I 

Wake, lady, wake ! 

For thy loved sake, 

Each trembling star 
Smiles from on high with its clear eye, 

Wliile nobler far 
Yon silveiy sliield lights earth and sky ; 

How good they are ! 

Wake, lady, wake I 

Rise, lady, rise ! 
Not star-filled skies 
I worsliip now, 
A fairer shrme I trust is mine 
For loyal vow : 



THE SERENADE. 205 

O that the Imng stars would sliiiie 
That hght thy brow ! 
Kise, lady, rise I 

Rise, lady, rise 

Ere war's mde cries 

Fright land and sea ! 
To-mon*ow's light sees mail-sheathed knight, 

Even hapless me, 
Careering through the bloody fight 

Afar from thee I 

Rise, lady, rise I 

Mute, lady, mute ? 

I have no lute. 

Nor rebeck small 
To soothe tliine ear with lay sincere, 

Or madi'igal ; 
With helm on head and hand on spear, 

On thee I call ! 

Mute, lady, mute I 

Mute, lady, mute 
To love's fond suit ? 



206 THE SERENADE. 

I '11 not complain, 
Since underneath thy balmy breath 

I may remain 
One brief hour more ere I seek death 

On battle plain ! 

Mute, lady, mute I 

Sleep, lady, sleep ! 

While watch I keep 

Till dawn of day : 
But o'er the wold now morning cold 

Sliines icy gray ; 
Wliile the plam gleams -with steel and gold, 

And chargers neigh I 

Sleep, lady, sleep ! 

Sleep, lady, sleep ! 

Nor wake to weep 

For heart-struck me : 
These trumpets Imell my last farewell 

To love and thee ! 
Wlien next they sound, 't will be to tell 

I died for thee ! 

Sleep, lady, sleep I 



CUULD LOVE LMi'AlM 



Could love impart, 

By nicest art, 
To speecliless rocks a tongiic, — 

Their theme would be, 

Beloved, of thee, — 
Tliy beauty, all their song. 

And, clerkhke, then, 

With sweet amen, 
Would echo from each hollow 

Beply all day ; 

Wliile gentle fay. 
With meny whoop, woidd follow. 

Had roses sense 

On no pretence 
Would they then buds unroll ; 

For, could they speak, 

'T was from thy cheek 
Then* daintiest blush they stole. 

Had lihcs eyes, 
With glad surprise, 



208 COULD LOVE IMPART. 

They 'd own themselves outdone, 
When thy pure brow 
And neck of snow, 

Gleamed in the morning sun. 

Could shining brooks, 

By amorous looks 
Be taught a voice so rare, 

Then, every sound 

That murmured round. 
Would whisper, ' Thou art fair I ' 

Could winds be fraught 

With pensive thought 
At midnight's solemn hour, 

Then every wood, 

In gleeful mood, 
Would own thy beauty's power ! 

And could the sky 

Behold thine eye, 
So filled with love and Hght, 

In jealous haste, 

Thou soon wert placed 
To star the cope of Night! 



THE PARTING. 



01 IS it tlius we part, 
Aiid thus wc say farcAvell, 
As if in neither heart 
Affection e'er did dwell ? 
And is it thus we sunder 
AYithout or sigh or tear, 
As if it were a wonder 
"We e'er held other dear? 

We part upon the spot, 
With cold and clouded brow, 
A-VHierc fii'st it was our lot 
To breathe love's fondest vow I 
The vow both then did tender 
Within this hallowed shade, — 
That vow, we now surrender. 
Heart-bankrupts both are made ! 

Thy hand is cold as mine. 
As lustreless tliine eye ; 
15 



210 THE PARTING. 

Thy bosom gives no sign 
That it could ever sigh ! 
Well, well ! adieu 's soon spoken, 
'Tis but a parting phrase, 
Yet said, I fear, heart-broken 
We '11 live our after days I 

Thine e^^e no tear ^^411 shed, 
Mine is as proudly diy ; 
But many an aching head 
Is ours before we die I 
From pride we both can boiTOW, — 
To part we both may dare, — 
But the heart-break of to-morrow, 
Nor you nor I can bear I 



LOVE'S DIET. 



Tell me, fair maid, tell me truly, 

How should infaut love be fed ; 

If with dewdrops, shed so newly 

On the bright gi-een clover blade ; 
Or, with roses plucked in July, 
And with honey liquored ? 
O, no I O, no I 
Let roses blow, 
And dcAv-stars to green blade cling : 
Other fare, 
More hght and rare, 
Befits that gentlest nursling. 

Feed liim with the sigh that rushes 

'Twixt sweet hps, whose muteness speaks, 

With the eloquence that flushes 

All a heart's wealth o'er soft cheeks ; 

Feed him mtli a world of blushes, 
And the glance that shuns, yet seeks : 



212 love's diet. 

For 't is with food, 

So light and good, 
That the Spirit child is fed ; 

And with the tear 

Of joyous fear 
That the small Elf's Hqnored. 



THE MIDNIGHT WIND. 



MouE-XFULLY I O, mounifully 

Tliis midniglit wind dotli sigli, 
Like some sweet plaintive melody 

Of ages long gone by : 
It speaks a tale of other years, — 

Of hopes that bloomed to die, — 
Of snnny smiles that set in tears, 

And loves that mouldering lie ! 

Mournfully I O, mournfully 

This midnight wind doth moan ; 
It stirs some chord of memory 

In each dull heavy tone : 
The voices of the much-loved dead 

Seem floating thereupon, — 
All, all my fond heart cherished 

Ere death had made it lone. 

Mournfully I O, mournfully 
This midnight wind doth swell, 



214 Tin: MIDNIGHT WIND. 

With its quaint pensive iniiistrcLsy 

Hope's passionate farewell 
To the dreamy joys of early years, 

Ere yet grief's canker fell 
On the heart's bloom, — ay ! well may tears 

Start at that parting knell I 



LINES GIVEN TO A FRIEND A DAY OR TWO BE- 
FORE THE DECEASE OF THE WRITER. 

OCTOBEB, 1S35. 



When I beneatli the cold red earth am sleepmg, 

Life's fever o'er, 
Will there for me be any bright eye weeping 

That I 'm no more ? 
Will there be any heart still memoiy keeping 

Of heretofore ? 

When the gi-eat winds through leafless forests rnsliing, 

Sad mnsic make ; 
When the swollen streams, o'er crag and gully gushing, 

Like full hearts break, 
Will there then one whose heart despair is crushing 

INIourn for my sake ? 

When the bright sun upon that spot is sliining 

With purest ray. 
And the small flowers their buds and blossoms twming, 

Burst tlnough that clay ; 
Will there be one still on that spot repining 

Lost hopes all day ? 



216 LINES GIVEN TO A FRIEND. 

When no star twinkles with its eye of glory, 

On that low mound ; 
And wintry storms have with then ruins hoaiy 

Its loneness crowned; 
Will there be then one versed in misery's story 

Pacing it round? 

It may be so, — but this is selfish sorrow 

To ask such meed, — 
A weakness and a wickedness to borrow 

From hearts that bleed. 
The wailings of to-day, for what to-moiTOW 

Shall never need. 

Lay me then gently in my narrow dweUing 

Thou gentle heart ; 
And though thy bosom should with grief be swelUng, 

Let no tear start ; 
It were in vain, — for Time hath long been knelling — 

Sad one, depart ! 



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